


Her Name

by unassumingvenusaur



Series: SRCU (Sahri Rhoshaan Cinematic Universe) [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: (it's y'shtola lol), Again mostly Emet but a brief mention of Thancred, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bisexuality, Biting, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Knifeplay, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Other WoLships but those are the big ones, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Pre-Patch 5.1: Vows of Virtue; Deeds of Cruelty, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Scratching, Spanking, Strap-Ons, The rough stuff is mostly Emet though Y'shtola gets in on it a little, This is v poly, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, Written before I played 5.x so possible minor inconsistencies, oh right i should probably say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 91,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27800083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unassumingvenusaur/pseuds/unassumingvenusaur
Summary: Taking up residence in Slitherbough, Sahri Rhoshaan hides from her past, buthisvoice has a way of catching up with her.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light, Y'shtola Rhul/Warrior of Light
Series: SRCU (Sahri Rhoshaan Cinematic Universe) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058933
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written strictly for myself and close friends to get out some feelings after I beat 5.0 in October, and it followed a few shorter, much rougher 'fics' I wrote throughout my experience of playing 5.0. As such, it may sometimes contain references to headcanons or events not properly explained in the fic--I apologize in advance! It should still be mostly understandable. I'm honestly really only posting this because my girlfriend encouraged me to, haha. 
> 
> Sahri Rhoshaan is the name of the WoL in this fic. If you want to read this and just insert your WoL in Sahri's place, please, go nuts. Lord knows this was an exercise in self-indulgence for me. However, Sahri's background is pretty integral to this fic, so if you are curious to know more about her, here's a brief bio and visual and a few key things that may come up in the fic: 
> 
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UZhpjLBah1knD_vXLSQIdoieMg_nyG9-T89hPapFnX0/edit?usp=sharing
> 
> I'm poly and a helpless multishipper so Sahri is going to be mentioned to have a lot of relationships--sorry if that's not your thing! The main ships are Y'shtola/WoL and Emet/WoL, however, with some G'raha/WoL in Part 1, so expect those to be the emphasis.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sahri's homecoming is rudely interrupted.

_“Warrior of Light_.” Tataru’s address rang through Sahri’s head as she darted out of the Rising Stones. Warrior of Light. And why wouldn’t Tataru call her that? Here, in Eorzea, in the Source, that’s who she is. Who she has been for years. The Warrior of Light. Eorzea’s champion. It should be the most routine title to hear. Why, then, did it make her head throb, send her pulse accelerating at the pace of a boulder tumbling down a mountainside? She couldn’t—She couldn’t—

Breathe. She had forgotten to breathe. Sahri takes a deep breath as she clutches her chest, leaning against the Seventh Heaven’s outer wall. She needed to center herself…Focus on….the thundering chatter and echo of work, apparently. Ah…It truly was incredible how Revenant’s Toll had grown to such a bustling community in a few short years. But that also meant it was nigh impossible to get a moment of quiet as she used to. Sahri’s heart continues to pound. Her emotions were quickly swirling away from her. She was losing control. Why was she losing control? …No. It couldn’t be! 

Sahri frantically throws a glance towards her hand. There’s…no light. There’s no light. Simply a small hand, weathered from years of intensive use, trembling. …She needs to make sure. Scanning the outskirts of Revenant’s Toll, she spies a worn training dummy. Taking her staff in hand, she channels the energy of familiar earth at her target. Stone rises from the ground. Of course it does. Why should she expect otherwise? She saw night return to Norvrandt with her own eyes. The skies above her shone with no unnatural glare. The Lightwardens’ corruption was dead. Banished into the abyss. Banished, with…

_“Warrior of Light!”_

The sneering voice caused Sahri to nearly leap out of her own skin. But when she pivoted to find the source, its owner was nowhere to be seen. Only adventurers milling about their own business. ...No doubt there would be looks before long, though. Perhaps the lack of distinctive bright pink in her outfit had granted her a few moments of anonymity, but it would not be long before she was recognized--everyone knew her face around these parts. And without fail, they would wave at her, and call out...

“ _Warrior of Light! Warrior of Light!_ ”

She couldn’t be here right now. Sahri hurries out of town, trying not to seem in a rush, even while her heart pounds and pounds in her throat. Even a little ways outside of the Toll...Scanning the environment--how could something so familiar feel so far away?--she finds a gentle slope to sit on, providing an excellent view of the eerie beauty that was the corrupted crystal structure in old Camp Revenant’s Toll. Quieter...Much quieter. Like this, she could find some peace. 

She takes a deep breath, reaching again for her staff--this time, to simply watch it glow. It was ever so slightly cool to the touch in a way that eased her pulse. Her recent weapon of choice had in fact been gifted to her many years prior by her dear, departed Ysayle--inspired when she told the woman of her foremost talents. This was likely the last vestige of Shiva’s power--of Ysayle’s tangible presence left in this world. It had long served as a precious keepsake, far too valuable to put to practical use. Yet when the Scions dropped one by one, leaving Sahri on her own to face the vast unknown, carrying Ysayle’s memory with her became the only way she could continue to walk forward. When she but closed her eyes and held it, Sahri could see Ysayle’s face--the sharp rise of her cheeks, those icy, bewitching eyes...and a smile adorning it all. Sahri smiles, for the first time since she returned to the Source. 

Finally able to breathe, Sahri looks on at the vast, untamed wilderness of Mor Dhona, and begins to chart her next steps. She should tell Aymeric she’s back, no doubt--he must have been worried silly when he realized she’d given her sickbed in Ishgard the slip, much as Estinien did years earlier. Oh, and Lyse, of course--the Scions were dear to her, whether she remained a member of the organization or not. Perhaps she’d get lucky, and run into Hien or Yugiri visiting the Eorzean Alliance. She could find a suitable way to bide her time, til the day she felt G’raha’s tug yet again…

_“And how many years would have passed for your friends by then, I wonder?”_

Sahri leaps to her feet, searching the horizon in every direction for the voice. The voice. The same voice she’d heard in Revenant’s Toll. She knew that voice. She could never forget it. It was _his_ , it was--

“Hades!” Sahri yells out, to no one in particular. The only attention she seems to attract is from a passing Nix, and one fierce glare from her was enough to scare it off. The beasts of Mor Dhona knew her face, as well. And they had long since learned that attacking her was a futile endeavor. They had long since learned...to fear her. Her power. Whether that be of the dragoon, of the Red, or of the White. ...Blinding, bright white…

Sahri grits her teeth. She couldn’t stay here. There was no pressing need for her, not now. While she had been _sitting_ , how much time had passed for the First…? For Thancred, for Y’shtola, for Ryne, for G’raha, for--

“Damn it all,” Sahri mutters to herself, before sprinting back in the direction of Revenant’s Toll. She does not care whose attention she draws--her only concern was placing her hands on the Aetheryte, reaching out to a realm of connections...Searching for that one strand, that long, thin strand...She had to remind herself to breathe, again. Where was it, where was it…?

_“What a disappointment.”_

There. 

Sahri vanishes in a flash of light, hurtling her essence across the Rift, leaving in her wake only bemused conversation about where Eorzea’s hero was off to in such a terrible hurry.


	2. Heaven’s Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old love, kindled anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #  **Part 1: Two-Toned Echoes**

_Their tense first meeting with this new foe over as abruptly as it started, Sahri found herself locked deep in thought. This Ascian--father of Garlemald, a sardonic man with no lack of charm...she was as suspicious of his intentions as every other Scion was. An alliance? She could not begin to comprehend how their goals might be reconciled. Yet, that wasn’t what troubled her the most--not truly. This man--did she...know him? When she’d beheld his face, she felt..._

_“Is aught amiss, Sahri?” Alphinaud’s voice draws her back from her thoughts to the present moment. The rest of the Scions had already begun to walk towards the Crystal Tower without her._

_Sahri shakes her head, embarrassed. “No. Just thinking.”_

_Alphinaud looks sympathetic. “I suspect we all have our share of thoughts after that...unexpected encounter. We should make haste to discuss them with the Exarch.”_

_Sahri nods in agreement. “Of course. ...But, say, Alphinaud?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“Emet-Selch…” The name is ash on Sahri’s tongue. Curious. “He seemed...familiar, somehow, didn’t he? Have we encountered him before?”_

_Rather than the agreement she’d hoped, Alphinaud’s brows furrow, a finger to his chin in thought._

_“I...cannot say I remember having done so,” the boy responds. He offers Sahri a smile. “But recall what Urianger said--it is not a surprise you would recognize him. ‘Tis likely you beheld his face in some history book or another.”_

_Was that it? ...Yes, it must have been. Sahri smiles back at Alphinaud._

_“You’re likely right. Let’s make our report to the Exarch, then.”_

_As Sahri walks off with Alphinaud, she does not notice the eyes digging daggers into her back._

……………………………………………………………………..

Sahri’s breathing is haggard as she appears in the Crystarium. Gods...That was the first time she’d attempted her own teleportation between the Source and the First. It was more taxing than she had imagined. Perhaps she should leave this to G’raha, from now on…

She takes a quick glance around the plaza. Everything...seemed as she remembered it from when she had left. But she dared not linger long--there was a reason she’d quietly fled the festivities following the Exarch’s rescue. Being a city’s center of attention sounded more draining than she cared for, right now. Well...There was only one way to get a definitive answer. She strides towards the Crystal Tower, concealing her panic, as the sun sets overhead. At least the night would soon be here. 

Briefly greeting the guard, Sahri escorts herself into the Crystal Tower and makes her way to the Exarch’s chambers. 

“...It would be advantageous to deploy our forces…”

She realizes it might have been polite to knock before barging into the room unannounced, and immediately feels a prickle of shame as she sees G’raha had been locked in discussion with Lyna. Had been, for her abrupt entrance had drawn startled stares from the Exarch and commander both.

“Warrior of Darkness? Exarch, I thought you said she had made the journey back to your homeland.” Lyna looks at the Exarch, expression inquisitive, but is only met with confusion of his own.

“Indeed she had. To what do we owe the honor of your presence, Sahri?”

“Ah…” She scrambles for an answer, but could not find one she could mention in front of Lyna. “My apologies, I thought I would be alone. Allow me to come back later.” 

G’raha shakes his head and gives Sahri a heart-melting smile that freezes her in place. He turns to Lyna, apologetic. “That will not be necessary. I trust we may continue this conversation at a later time, Commander Lyna?” 

Lyna nods. “Of course. We’ll reconvene when your business with the Warrior of Darkness is through.” As Lyna walks through the door to leave, she gives Sahri a warm smile--warmth she had not expected to come from such a stern face. G’raha beckons Sahri inside, and she shuts the door behind her. 

“I’m surprised. I do not recall summoning you back.” Sahri had left a gap between the two, but G’raha moves to close it. Her earlier prickle of shame only began to grow, but she smiles at the gesture regardless.

“As I recall, a certain Exarch stared me down and did not allow me to explore the Crystarium until I had attuned to its main Aetheryte.” To her relief, G’raha laughs. Sahri’s cheeks flush at the sweet sound. The man was even more impossibly adorable than she had remembered. 

“A fair point indeed. What brings you here, then? Some urgent news from the Source?” 

Sahri shakes her head. “No...Surprisingly little has happened, it would seem. Garlemald has ceased its offensive and shows no preparations to advance again. That includes any sign of Black Rose.”

G’raha breathes a sigh of relief. “Ah, that is heartening to hear indeed. Then there is no immediate danger as we continue to search for a way to return the Scions to the Source.” Though still smiling, G’raha tilts his head. “What is it, then, that has brought you back to the First so soon?”

Soon? She...She should just ask. Sahri steadies herself.

“...How long has it been, Raha? Since I departed and the Scions went their separate ways?”

G’raha now looks truly puzzled. “How long? It has not even been a full day. The period of relative temporal synchrony between the Source and First has shown no signs of stopping.”

Sahri clutches both hands to her chest and releases a breath she had not realized she was holding. “Oh, thank goodness…” She feels a hand on her shoulder, and looks up to find G’raha’s kind eyes. 

“You were worried,” G’raha says, rather than asks. She knew better than to deny it. Not that she could lie to him, trapped in that sea of red.

“...The thought of years more passing for all of you before I returned...frightened me.” 

G’raha shakes his head. “I truly do have much to apologize to you about, not least of which is this guilt. But let us not dwell on that. Not now.” G’raha’s smile steadies Sahri’s heart. “I promise you--I will continue to monitor the temporal relation between these planes, and if I sense things diverging once again, you will be the first to know. Pray do not let this fear interrupt your long-earned homecoming.” 

Sahri smiles and takes his hand from her shoulder, holding it between her own. “That is kind of you...Truly. But...if I am to idle in victory, I would rather do so in the First, where I know the Scions are in easy reach.” Still caught in G’raha’s eyes, her smile grows wider. “Where...Where I may be with my first love once more.” 

Those scarlet eyes widen. G’raha’s lower lip trembles. Was he going to cry, again? If he did, she might just join him.

“S...Sahri…” His voice wavers. Setting aside his cane, he places his crystal hand on Sahri’s cheek. She’d expected it to be cold, but it hums with the warmth of life, just like the rest of the man. Oh...no matter much time may have passed, how his body may have changed, he was still...still her…

“Raha,” she answers, choking back tears. 

His thumb trails down her face. She...Sahri’s heart fluttered, butterflies filling her stomach. She’d not had a moment with him alone since his hood flew back in the Crown of the Immaculate, revealing what her heart had known from the start. Only now did it sink in...Raha was here, really, truly here. Here to be with. Here to touch. Suddenly, she was grateful for her fear. Without it, she might have overlooked the simple truth now tugging at the deepest depths of her heart.

“You...Of course. Of course,” G’raha finally manages. “You are always welcome in the Crystarium, Sahri. Always...always welcome to see me, even if I struggle to think myself deserv--”

Sahri kisses him to avail him through any doubt. He makes a small sound into her lips that she cannot help but mirror. Tears fall onto her cheeks, and she is not sure if they are hers or his. His crystal arm moves to loop around the small of her back, his other hand holding her head. Ah, he always used to hold her like this...She throws her arms around him in turn, and G’raha leans slightly forward into the kiss. His lips brought an achingly familiar taste which sent memories from years prior racing to the fore. Her first stumblings into romance...They seemed almost innocent, looking back. She had thought she’d overcome a great adversity, but in reality hardly knew the meaning of the word. Not like she did now. And yet, Raha...Raha _was_ here, now. She pulls back from the kiss for breath, and finds she and G’raha both grinning like madmen at one another. His cheeks are so beautiful, rosy.

“I-I…” this eloquent man attempts to begin. Sahri can’t stifle a giggle. The feeling in her chest was light. “Not once...not once did I allow myself to dream I might one day hold you in my arms again. My friend, my...M-May I still call you my love?”

“Please do,” Sahri begs.

“My love. My love...My inspiration. Ever did you guide my path. Decades passed, but your image never faded. Sahri, I cannot begin to convey the pride I felt learning your name inspired hope over a century after your time. How my heart swelled reading of your efforts in Ishgard, the Far East, Ala Mhigo…”

“Raha…”  
  
“And before you say you do not deserve such honors, I counter that you earned every word of them.”

Instead of arguing, Sahri buries her delighted tears in her love’s shoulder, ears involuntarily twitching when he begins to pet her.

“You...I know it was not nearly as long for me, but I never forgot you, Raha. Not for a moment. Please know that.”

G’raha guides her head back so he can look into her eyes as he tells her, “Nothing could be a greater honor, my hero.”

Sahri was at utter peace. Complete and utter peace. Nothing could break this relief. This bliss. When G’raha kisses her again, she is ready to give herself over entirely, making a soft but lingering moan. Unfortunately, this has the opposite of its intended effect and causes G’raha to pull away. His stark red face was giving his eyes a run for their gil. 

“A-Ah...Aha. As joyous as this is, we should not...allow ourselves to get carried away. I still have duties left in the day, after all.” 

Sahri’s face falls, but G’raha quickly scratches her head--just the way he knows she likes it--to appease her. 

“Please, do not look at me with such sad eyes. If you are to be staying a while, why not go settle into your room in the Pendants? I will join you as soon as I am able--with dinner in tow, as an apology. What say you?”

Dinner? Sahri wasn’t sure she’d even had lunch. How could she turn down such a sweet offer?

“You drive a hard bargain, Exarch,” she tells him dryly, earning a laugh.

“It is a skill I have been developing, I admit. Now, please--Go make yourself comfortable. I will be there.” 

…………………………………………………………….

As it turned out, Sahri had not prepared well for her departure to the Source. The last few days she had spent in her room had been...difficult, and as a result her personal effects were strewn about in a rather haphazard manner. There was no need to pack it all away, at least, but there was still plenty to do in the way of tidying up while she waited for G’raha. One item in particular had caught her eye, and she set it aside for later. Now done with her tasks, she sat down at her dining table, unfolding the piece of parchment…

[“ _Dear Lady Lukah,_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115190)

[ _Lady Lukah, if you are reading this letter, then I am truly sorry.”_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115190)

The last letter she’d written to her mother, in the event she did not return from the First...put to ink before she had absorbed even three Lightwardens. Before she even _knew_ the terror of her own humanity slipping inexorably away, while pangs of _hunger_ for aether grew--

Hungry...Gods, she was so hungry. Suddenly, Sahri could no longer make out the letter’s words--they blurred out of focus with the tears welling in her eyes, and her hands trembled too much to reorient herself. Thankfully, she was saved by a blunted knock at her door and the call of a soothing voice to match.

“Sahri? I’m finally free.”

Sahri throws the letter to the other side of the table and wipes the tears from her eyes. She takes a breath before opening the door, immediately realizing why G’raha’s knock was blunted--he carried with him a two-handed basket full of sliced sandwiches. 

“I was told you were fond of these the last time,” he says with a surprising shyness. Sahri’s heart does flips. Did he…?

“Did you make them yourself, again?” she asks him, and the color that floods his face is an answer on its own.

“I...I did.” He smiles earnestly. _Adorable._ “I apologize for any delay that might have caused, but…”

Sahri shakes her head. “No, no--Never apologize for something so sweet, Raha.” What an unflappably kind man. How did she ever earn this? With a kiss to his cheek and a hand at his back, she leads him to place the basket down on the table and take a seat. She pulls up a chair next to him and unceremoniously begins to scarf down a sandwich.

“Mmmmm…” Sahri’s tail swooshes in delight. Ah, so long, hunger.

“They’re simple, but the people of the Crystarium have long made do with simplicity.” The pride is evident in G’raha’s voice. 

“They’e delifous if what they are,” Sahri replies with food still stuffed in her mouth. She swallows before continuing. “Take some yourself, please!”

“Wh-What…? Oh, no, no, I’m quite fine. Take all you want,” he begins to protest, but Sahri won’t hear it.

“Do you not get hungry anymore, now that you’ve merged with the Crystal tower?”

“...No, I still do.”  
  
“Then eat some sandwiches, you silly man.”

G’raha throws his hands up in surrender and the two share a laugh. For Sahri, laughing around G’raha was just a natural state of being. The two spend a few moments in silence to eat--Sahri taking by far the greater share--before Sahri speaks up again. 

“Tomorrow, let me cook you something in return.” 

G’raha beams at her. “I...know better than to object. Thank you. The nights you cooked meals for the members of NOAH, the whole of us gathered around a fire...those are some of my fondest memories. And most delicious ones, for that matter.” 

Sahri’s face flares pink. Gods, this man could turn her to mush in a matter of words. Some things never change, she supposes.

“I...Those were just some recipes I learned while growing up in the Twelveswood.” G’raha smirks, an expression of his Sahri wasn’t sure had survived the 300-some years. 

“That would explain why they were always so...leafy.” Again, the two laugh.

“I’ll have you know--since then, I trained professionally as a culinarian in Limsa Lominsa. My repertoire is much more developed, now.” She feigns an overacted pride, but G’raha seems genuinely impressed.

“When did you ever find the time to…? Ah, never mind. It’s futile to question how you manage to do what you do. You ever were a woman of many talents.”

Sahri shakes her head. “No, no. I’m really not. I just like using my hands.”

G’raha snorts. “That, I also remember fondly.” If Sahri’s face was pink before, it’s bright red now.

“I--Raha!” she exclaims, trying to contain her snickering. “That’s not--Where is your mind?!” Ah...All this laughter was good for her heart. And while his earlier hesitance was sweet, she was glad to see G’raha emerging back out from his shell. When their laughter died down, he spoke up once again.

“I’m curious, Sahri--Why was it that I learned that you originally hailed from Ala Mhigo from the history books, rather than you?” 

Sahri scratches her cheek. “Well…”

And so the two carried on, chatting for hours about topics from the sentimental to the inane--whether it be half a decade or dozens, the two had a flow of topics that never ceased. Eventually, though, they reached a lull, and calm fell over the two. Sahri lay against G’raha’s shoulder, heart swirling with contentment. The feeling of his arm around her gave her grounding. Yet as do all moments, this too passed, and the silence was broken once again.

“Sahri, I’ve been meaning to ask--and please, stop me if this is too personal--but is that a letter? It looks like your handwriting.” G’raha gestures to the opposite end of the table, and Sahri tenses, rising from her resting place.

“Oh...Yes, it is.” Perhaps she should have put it away when he arrived...Alas. No hiding it now. “I wrote it to Lady Lukah some time back.”

G’raha’s brow furrows. “Lady Lukah…?” But soon, realization strikes. “Ah! The woman who raised you in lieu of your parents, of course.” He smiles warmly. “You took the time to write a letter to her, in the midst of all that was happening? That’s kind of you.” 

Sahri’s smile is much sadder. “...I’m afraid kindness wasn’t the motivation.” 

G’raha seems puzzled. “What...do you mean?” 

Sahri looks into his eyes. That dazzling deep red...She still could not resist being forthcoming. In place of words, she reaches for the letter and hands it to him, studying his face as he begins to read it. Almost immediately, it falls, and only grows more downcast as the letter continues. Sahri forces herself to watch. Given its relative brevity, he only had to stop once to wipe the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He puts down the parchment, and a few seconds of silence linger in the air.

“When did you write this?” G’raha’s tone is even. 

“...While we were searching for Rak’tika’s Lightwarden,” she answers plainly. G’raha turns to her, gritting his teeth, eyes welling with sorrow.

“So early…! So early, and you already…” He rests his head on a hand. “...I had no idea how deeply I made you suffer for my foolish plans. I thought hiding my identity would reduce your hurt, but instead, it led to you thinking… ...This pain is inexcusable.” G’raha hangs his head. “No apology could ever suffice.”

Sahri stares at him, dumbfounded. “...You must be joking. G’raha Tia...Did you already forget? You saved my life. I would not be standing here, now, were it not for you.” To her frustration, G’raha shakes his head.

“I played a role, but…”

“Please look at me, Raha.” He does. “If you had not acted, no one else could have played their part. It was a difficult journey, but…” She presses back the flood of memories. “But it was a path I chose to walk. Perhaps the plan went awry, but in the end, I am here in defiance of what fate originally willed, and that is thanks to you.” She smiles at him. “And your plan did not originally include you standing her with me, today. For that, I’m glad it fell off course. Your life... _Having_ you in my life, again, was worth every moment.”

G’raha is crying in earnest, now. “Truly? It was worth this? All of this?” Ah, it was difficult not to get choked up when he did. Sahri climbs into his lap and embraces him, resting her head in his shoulder.

“Without question. So please, never apologize for saving my life. Perhaps things could have gone differently, but…”

A voice creeps into the back of her head. _“Remember us._ ” She wills it to dissipate.

“But we all have to make difficult choices in doing what’s right. You saved two worlds, an innumerable amount of lives with yours. There’s no use in regretting that.” 

(If only she could take her own advice.)

Sahri pulls her head up to rest their foreheads together. G’raha’s expression had calmed considerably. He was holding her back, now. 

“Love who you love now, instead. Doesn’t that make more sense?” Sahri’s ears twitch as she feels G’raha’s hand run between them. He gives her a trembling smile. 

“As wise as you are kind.” 

Sahri cracks a smile and shakes her head. “It just breaks my heart to see you cry.” G’raha scratches her head again. 

“I’ll endeavor to do a bit less of it, then. Focus on now, as you wish.” The smile in his eyes is deep, and Sahri feels her breath hitch. “I love you, Sahri Rhoshaan. Deeply and truly.” Oh, _that_ was enough to make her cry. She laughs.

“And I you, G’raha Tia.” 

It does not take long for their lips to find the other’s. At this angle, the kiss was naturally deep. The taste delighted Sahri much as it had earlier, and with emotions running high, Sahri wanted more of it. Her tongue seeks purchase to his mouth, and he gladly grants it, meeting her wayward tongue with his own. Sahri makes a little gasp at the feeling of their tongues mingling. Apparently G’raha likes that, because she soon finds herself leaned back against the table, hand bracing her head. He pushes his tongue into her mouth in earnest, and Sahri gladly gives way to him. When they break for air, G’raha speaks.

“We never did finish what we started earlier--did we?” While his eyes had not yet completely dried, he seemed eager to move on, and the heat burning in them sent a shudder down Sahri’s spine. The way G’raha _looked_ at her--Truly, this gaze was what first made her feel as a _woman_ in all her body and soul. It was intoxicating, then...And she was quickly learning that with a world of more experience under her belt, it was no less so now. Come to think of it, she had never been with him after he completed the pair of his Allagan eyes--events had moved much too quickly for that. They afforded his look a new level of intensity that Sahri was eager to uncover. 

“You do still owe me, from earlier,” she retorts with a sly grin. Pulling him into another kiss, Sahri begins to slowly grind her hips against his, finding a pleasant bulge in his heavy cloak. To her confusion, G’raha’s hands find her hips and urge her to a stop.

“Is something wrong?” Sahri asks, terrified she had misstepped. But G’raha shakes his head. 

“No, not at all.” His smile is gentle. “I would simply like to request an indulgence, if you would allow me.”

Sahri nods. “Of course.”

“I...I have waited many, many years for the chance to love you again. To be able to hold you at all is a blessing beyond words. For tonight...Just for tonight, might I ask you to relax, lay back, and allow me to pamper you?” He takes her hand in his, squeezing it. “It would...go a long way towards bringing me peace, I think.”

_Oh_ . That was...that was _his_ indulgence? Heat pooled in Sahri’s core, and were they not spread over his lap she knew she would be rubbing her thighs together. Laying back and letting G’raha simply take care of her...Even in making love, he was so impossibly sweet.

“Raha...That would be a delight.” Sahri is greeted by a beaming face.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, Sahri…”

G’raha rises from his chair, carrying Sahri with him, and after chuckling at her little squeak sets her on the edge of her bed. She bends over to take off her boots, but G’raha stops her, sitting her back up straight. 

“Please...Allow me.” Sahri sits back and lets him, watching him search for clasps before sliding off her boots, setting them to the side. And after that, the stockings underneath, revealing milky bare legs he wastes no time in admiring. 

“You’ll have to forgive me for starting in a strange place, but...The way your dress stops just shy of your boots has left me desperate to see more for some time, now.” Sahri giggles at him and kicks up one leg to rest on his shoulder, bringing her thigh right up to his face.

“Is that so?” she asks, a teasing edge to her voice. That was all the permission he needed. G’raha’s eyes narrow and he presses his lips against the inner thigh that had been tempting him. Sahri inhales sharply--oh, those were her _Raha’s_ lips...His hands hold the other side of her leg, delicately feeling up and down their length. He begins to press kisses into the spot his lips meet skin, mirroring his hands on a smaller scale as he peppers kisses up to the edge of her undergarments and down again, adding in a few nibbles that send her toes curling.

“Beautiful. You are even more beautiful than I remember, Sahri.” Unable to formulate a response, she simply hums with delight. Before she gets too terribly worked up, his kisses begin to trail further down her leg, covering every inch of skin he finds. He was in the mood to _worship_ , and Sahri bites her lip at the realization. His reverent lips make their way to the tip of her ankle, and continue ever lower along the side of her foot, and chancing a few kisses on top. Sahri gasps at the sensation. Wh-what was…? Oh, that felt...I-It felt so intimate...G’raha looks up at her, surprise on his face.

“Oh? I was simply trying to be thorough, but did I happen across something you enjoy?”

Sahri’s face was burning red. “I...I’m not sure,” she answers honestly. G’raha smiles up at her. 

“Let’s press the subject, then, shall we?” After pressing a lingering kiss to the top of each of Sahri’s toes, G’raha again kisses the top of her foot. Surely enough, he earns more gasps. Both his hands move down to hold her foot, and when he chances to press a thumb into her sole, Sahri’s gasps turn into more of a full-fledged moan. G’raha smiles in his small victory and presses his advantage, massaging the underside of her foot while continuing to kiss on top. 

“Oh, Raha…” Gods...This wasn’t even getting her off, exactly, but it was a release of tension, a pleasure unto its own that she cherished sharing with her love. When her noises calm down into contented, steady breathing, G’raha decides to end his little detour, this time kissing up the front of Sahri’s leg. Then, the next side...even underneath...And when her leg had been thoroughly tended to, he simply moved onto the other. Sahri closed her eyes and leaned back, letting herself get lost in the relaxation of lips upon skin. She was so entranced, she nearly didn’t notice when G’raha ceased his ministrations and rose to his feet. She smiles, invitingly. 

“Ready to see more, Raha?” 

He smiles back. “Without a doubt.” Yet instead of reaching for her clothes, he runs his hands through her hair, undoing her buns with a few simple tugs and letting her hair fall to its full length. “You always did look gorgeous with your hair down.”

Sahri only blushes, a slight twitch in her ears. G’raha undoes the clasp on the front of her robe and she shrugs it off, letting it fall behind her. She stands to let him pull her dress over her head, and to her surprise he goes the rest of the way and strips her of her undergarments, as well. Sahri now completely in the nude, G’raha kisses her and lays her comfortably back on the bed, climbing on hands and knees above her. For a moment, he simply drinks in the sight of Sahri below him, and she sees the heat flare up in his eyes once again. Tears prickle at their corners as his lips quirk upward. Eventually, his eyes settle upon her torso--no doubt the sibling scars drawing his attention.

“...I know my body is rather more battered than the last time you saw it,” she answers before he asks. “Unsightly, aren’t they?”

G’raha shakes his head. “No, no...They are but a visible reminder of how diligently you fight for...Well. The sake of two realms, now.” Starting at her left shoulder, he runs his fingers diagonally across her torso, achingly tender, tracing the path of her first scar...And then back up to her side, following the other.

“These were no ordinary injuries,” he correctly observes. Sahri nods, giving a wistful smile.

“You can thank one Zenos yae Galvus for those. You may think highly of me, but…Not every battle I fight is a victorious one. And losing...Well. You know the consequences of that.” Sahri notices that rather than sorrow, determination brims in G’raha’s eyes.

“Indeed...I am glad beyond words you are still here with me, my love.” He takes her hand and, without another word, begins kissing along the path his fingers just took. Sahri purrs in gratitude. His kisses decorate her torso, and conspicuously avoiding her breasts, he makes his way to her neck, mixing in more nibbles before finding her lips once again. She moaned into his mouth as their tongues danced yet again--she _needs_ more, and has half a mind to take it. But she made G’raha a promise, so she continues to follow his pace, smiling when he affords her arms the same attention he did her legs. After particularly lavishing the backs and palms of her hands, he finally sets his sights on her chest. When his eyes look to hers for permission, Sahri immediately urges him on.

“ _Finally_ …” Sahri sighs in relief when G’raha’s hands cup her breasts and his lips press against her nipple. She hears a soft chuckle and looks down to see a grateful smile.

“Thank you for being so patient with me, my love.” Sahri shakes her head and pets him, paying back some of the ear twitches he’d given her.

“I know you’ll make it worth it,” she tells him, watching an adorable blush rise to his face. She’s quickly proven right as he eagerly sets his mouth to use. Her breasts were nothing spectacular, but he makes her _feel_ like they are, kissing around them, lapping languidly, even trying a few moments of suckling. She squeezes his hand and happily hums in time. This was a talent of G’raha’s--whatever beauty he saw in his eyes, he made manifest on her skin. She felt the part of a woman worth centuries of devotion, and without realizing, tears began to stream from her eyes. 

“A-Are you alright, Sahri?” It seemed G’raha had noticed. She looks down at him and nods. Oh, she loved him so...

“Yes. Just...happy. Very happy.” She feels the tingle of another lingering kiss to her palm.

“Then I have done my task well…” G’raha taps his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder…”

Sahri wasn’t prepared for where his fingers would go next. She lets out her deepest moan yet when he pulls back, digits dripping wet. Heat surging in his expression, he gives the juices a taste, and Sahri feels her stomach twist in knots.

“Mmm...More than ready, it would seem.” Aghast at G’raha’s teasing, Sahri gives him a playful shove.

“Of course I am. How could I not be, by now?” That beautiful laugh fills Sahri’s ears, and she feels herself melting back into the bed.

“Well, I shan’t keep you waiting any longer. Allow me to show you why I was trying to save my appetite.”

Before Sahri can respond, she’s cut off by G’raha’s tongue plunging into her folds. Gasping, she snakes a hand into his hair and squeezes her thighs tightly.

“Raha…!”

She feels him smile between her legs and makes an incoherent noise of pleasure. By the Twelve, she wasn’t sure if it was all the buildup or simply because it was _Raha_ , her _Raha_ between her legs after so long, but every swipe of his tongue sent her shuddering. Her body coursed with electricity. Alternating between sucking and teasing her clit and pressing between her folds, he proved the years had not rusted his knack for bringing her pleasure. It was an embarrassingly short amount of time until her walls clenched around his tongue--but not yet satisfied, he continues onwards until she finds a second, greater climax that has her seeing stars.

When she finally regains her senses, heaving for breath, she finds G’raha has taken his place laying down beside her. His arm is thrown around her, and he smiles. 

“Thank you for allowing me to do that, my love. I believe...I am _quite_ satisfied,” he sighs contentedly. However, Sahri wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily. 

“Well, I’m not,” she teases. “You haven’t even taken off your clothes yet.” G’raha laughs loudly towards the ceiling, something he only does when he’s truly tickled.

“You have the right of it, of course. Pray forgive my discourtesy.” The two share grins as he shrugs off the layers of his cloak, revealing only sparse undergarments he sheds as well. She hadn’t realized until now just how much of his body had been overtaken by crystal. Nearly his entire torso was changed, especially favoring his right side. Fortunately for him, he looked no less handsome like this.

“Come here, you,” she beckons, G’raha pouncing atop her and pulling her into a deep kiss. Sahri quite doubted the two were going to sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weird i put the filler at the beginning of the fic but i blame G'raha for being so adorable in ShB


	3. Reflection in the Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love cannot cure all ills, as much as one may wish it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that is where Sahri's mental health really begins to take a nosedive--some of it based on my own experiences, some of it based more on in-game things like those depicted in the DRK quests. If you're someone who struggles with mental health issues or to whom such issues affect deeply, please take appropriate care of yourself!

Somehow, the two had found slumber after all the night before. Yet both were early risers, and found each other face-to-face as dawn peeked in through the window. Sahri took the opportunity to quietly cuddle to G’raha’s chest, finding an embrace in return. They laid there together in contented silence, letting more and more daylight trickle into the room. Some indeterminate time later, G’raha breaks the reverie. 

“You’ll be happy to know I cleared my schedule, today, to be able to devote more time to you,” G’raha begins. Sahri gives him an appreciative smile and mouths, ‘thank you.’ He pets her. 

“Of course. Unfortunately, one day is the most I could manage. Even with the Lightwardens vanquished, my duties to the Crystarium are many.” He sounds apologetic, but Sahri shakes her head.

“I understand completely. Don’t worry--The time I do get with you will be more than enough.”

“That’s reassuring to hear,” he says, clearly appreciative. “Perhaps one goal today should be to find a way you might occupy your time while I attend to my duties.”

“Hmmm…” Sahri furrows her brow. 

“Ah! Is crafting still something that holds your interest?” he suggests. “I seem to remember you often occupying your spare moments with weaving and the sort.” Sahri’s eyes light up at the mention.

“Oh, certainly. Making things helps me clear my head. Besides, it feels good to have projects to work on. It keeps me from feeling idle.” 

G’raha smiles at her. “Which I’m sure is the worst thing you think you can be, in your mind. It sounds like a trip to the Crystalline Mean is in order, then.”

...To the Crystalline Mean? Hm. For some reason, the thought filled Sahri with trepidation...But she shakes it off. It only made sense. Perhaps she could spend her time producing goods for the Crystarium. ...Still…

“Will you come with me?” she asks, looking at G’raha pleadingly. His smile only warms.

“I wouldn’t think of leaving your side. Shall we get ready to go, then? Perhaps you can put some breakfast on.” His mention of breakfast reminds Sahri of something. A devious look rises to her face.

“...I will. But first, let me get a snack. There’s something I’ve been craving.”

G’raha quirks an eyebrow. “A snack? Doesn’t that defeat the--” The unfinished question is quickly answered when Sahri disappears beneath the sheets, lips on a rather _stimulating_ location causing him to rise.

 _“O-Oh._ ”

Sahri enjoyed every drop of her breakfast that morning.

……………………………………………………………………….

“Think of it as a date.” From the moment she and G’raha stepped outside of her room, Sahri had taken hold of the Exarch’s hand and refused to release it. That was all it was, she insisted. She wanted to be a sweet, normal couple walking around town together. Just like they never got the chance to. She almost believed herself, too. G’raha shrugs and gives her a smile.

“The Crystal Exarch and the Warrior of Darkness holding hands as they travel the streets...The Crystarium will not soon forget that sight, I imagine.” 

His comment gave Sahri pause. No doubt the two would be the center of attention in any locale they walked through. ...But that would be true regardless. Recognition was an unavoidable consequence of being the people’s hero. 

“I doubt it would much matter whether we were holding hands or not,” she replies, feigning a smile. 

“Fair enough! After you, then.”

Most of its residents had already left to go about their daily business, so when the two reached the Pendant’s lobby, the first person that greeted them was the Manager of Suites. Surprise took his face first, rolling over to confusion, before an embarrassed recognition crept forward. Oh. She supposed there was only one conclusion he could draw from the sight. Sahri notices his cheeks turn a faint pink, and she feels hers flare in turn. She did not even know the man’s name, but felt they had something of a rapport...Still, he found his smile again, giving the two a polite wave which they returned. There were worse ways that could have gone, Sahri supposes. 

The couple opted to walk their way to the Crystalline Mean rather than rely on aethernet transportation--It would be a pleasant stroll, and G’raha wanted to assess the state of his people. As the two made their way towards the markets of Musica Universalis, he clearly liked what he saw, regarding the scene with a smile.

“Did you notice, Sahri? The people of the Crystarium walk with more confidence in their step, now. Before, they simply survived, but now they look to thrive. And that is all thanks to you, O Warrior of Darkness.”

Sahri examined their surroundings herself. Trying to ignore the unsubtle glances of everyone she turned her head towards, she found a city bursting to the brim with life. The markets roared, dozens pouring over the stalls and idling in between--talking, laughing together. Most carried goods to or from the area--the products of hard work, surely, or the rewards of such. The hesitance she had noticed in its people when she had first arrived was indeed nowhere to be seen. She smiles and gives G’raha a nod in response before turning her gaze back to the crowd. 

After waving at Bragi as they walked past--and watching him turn to whisper in his nearest associate’s ear--Sahri noticed a man staring directly at her. His face was one of awe, and she sees him move to begin to clap until a woman stays his hand. She thinks she hears words like “rude” and “privacy” over the murmur of the crowd, and Sahri sends a smile in their direction. 

An idle thought strikes her. What would Y’shtola see in a crowd of so many? Would the sight be beautiful, or simply overwhelming? Her own temporary aethersight had not developed by the time she’d left the Crystarium for the Tempest, and any trace she’d possessed was far in the past, now. She wants to believe it would be beautiful. Life pulsing, flowing from person to person, to the land and the objects they traded...Thousands of essences, thousands of lives unified by one, grand force…

 _“Thousands of lives you could snuff out in an instant._ ”

Sahri whips her head around, but finds no one behind her. She glares, trying to determine who might be the source, until another voice reels her back in.

“..ri? Sahri? Is something wrong?” Sahri turns back to find G’raha looking her over, wearing an expression of concern. Right. Right. She’s having a nice walk with G’raha, right now. Sahri shakes her head.

“Sorry. I thought I heard something, but I guess I was wrong. Let’s keep going.” She gives her best smile, but G’raha clearly scrutinizes it. 

“...Very well,” he relents, squeezing her hand as they continue to walk together. 

She cannot maintain her focus on him for long. She scans the crowd once more, suddenly reconsidering their expressions. Was it awe they looked at her with, or fear? By all rights, they should be terrified of her. What could slay those beasts but a more ferocious beast, after all? And she could do it. She could kill them. She could likely kill hundreds, perhaps a thousand if she put her mind to it.

 _Gods_ , what if she _had_ turned, if Ardbert _hadn’t_ intervened when they returned from Amh Araeng? The city might no longer stand. Its residents, dead or turned themselves. The aether that flowed through them, devoured. Damn it all, the _hunger_. She sees the aether bursting from each and every citizen. If she could have seen their aether back then, seen the beauty of life’s flow, could she have resisted that damnable hunger? Or would she have turned right then and there, feasting upon them while they were helpless to resist? Was--Was she turning? No, no, not--not the light, she can’t give to the light--

“Sahri!”

Again, G’raha’s voice pulls her back to the present. His face is a picture of dismay.

“Sahri, you’re…” He gestures towards her face. She places a hand upon her cheek and finds it wet. Her hand is trembling--Her whole body is, now that she’s noticed. Strange. How terribly strange…

“Sahri, you’re shaking. What happened? Talk to me, please. Sahri…” He is holding both her hands now. Sahri can only imagine the scene they were making. She decides she doesn’t want to know. But she also isn’t sure how to answer G’raha’s question. Why was she struggling to breathe, her heart threatening to burst from her chest? 

“I...I’m not sure,” was all she could muster. That only intensified G’raha’s concern. 

“...Let’s head back to your room. You must need more rest. I’ll go back out later.” He sounds decisive, but Sahri shakes her head. 

“No, no. Let’s finish what we came for. I’ll be fine.” Her smile is strained. “Promise.” G’raha closes his eyes in thought and lets out a sigh. 

“...Al...Alright. But we’ll take the aethernet back.” Nodding in agreement to the concession seems to grant him some ease. 

The two walk again, and Sahri decides she’ll focus on G’raha instead of the crowd. Let him lead the way. She engages him in idle conversation, putting a smile back onto his face. Eventually, hers turns genuine once again. Her heart had almost returned to its normal rate when, walking up the stairs of the Rotunda, she catches a glimpse of the Crystal Tower looming overhead. For some reason, her gaze locks to it. Something...was something different about it? It struck her as uncanny, sending her heart off-beat. But she catches herself--she’s getting distracted, again. She forces her focus back to G’raha, and manages to keep it there until the two arrive at the Mean. When she notices the two, Katliss nearly jumps, but a smile breaks over her face. 

“What auspicious guests we have today! The Exarch and Warrior of Darkness.” She notices the hand held between them and boldly gestures to it. “...And is that new?” That prompts laughs from Sahri and G’raha both.

“Not...exactly,” Sahri tells her shyly. Katliss’ smile only grows wider.

“Should’ve known you two shared more than a homeland. Anyhow, enough prying. To what do we owe this honor?” 

“You might be interested to know,” G’raha begins, “that in addition to her skills as a warrior, Sahri has some talent as an artisan…” 

A glint behind Katliss draws Sahri’s attention. Ah. The Crystal Tower, again. What was so... _off_ about it? (Sahri absentmindedly nods at the conversation G’raha and Katliss were having, taking some cloth that Katliss handed her.) The Crystal Tower...It was ever an imposing presence. A crystalline structure of near incomprehensible proportions, cloaked in ethereal blue. Standing close to it, one could almost imagine being consumed. She was miniscule compared to it, powerless to resist its will. It...Sahri narrows her eyes. Something... _something_ was on the tip of her tongue. This massive crystal, dwarfing her. As...As she floated in the void…

_“Hear. Feel. Think.”_

Sahri quakes, the rolls of cloth in her arms dropping to the ground, along with a few other items she hadn’t noticed stacked on top. Her mouth falls open in utter horror. She staggers backward. Hydaelyn...Hydaelyn, she was...She _was_ the light, wasn’t she? Or...she controlled it. Or….Or….Sahri couldn’t keep her racing thoughts in order. Glance at her hand. No. No light. But Hydaelyn bared ever forward, readying….Readying to strike again?! No, she wouldn’t--Not again, not again! Sahri scrambles for her staff, only to find she hadn’t brought it with her. No--Hydaelyn...Hydaelyn could do with her light as she pleased. Force her to kill, kill everyone, she--

 _“I am the Word of the Mother._ ” 

Sahri desperately tries to pull away, but Hydaelyn draws ever closer. Wait...Pull away? She’s suddenly aware of G’raha Tia at her side, briskly walking her forward, face consumed with consternation. Why was he leading her towards--towards the Tower--no, towards Hydaelyn?! 

“Don’t...Don’t bring me to her, Raha. Please…” He says something she doesn’t understand. A voice pierces her head again. 

_“Hear. Feel. Think.”_

But this time, the voice oscillates. Oscillates between her, and….and…

_“Remember.”_

Suddenly, the crystal is an Amaurotine tower aflame. Destruction rains down from the skies. It was...it was happening again. Her home...her home was… 

As G’raha leads her through the burning threshold, she sees them. Bodies cloaked in black and masked in white, slumped across the ground, along the stairwell they climb. Her people...It’s, it’s too much. The horror is too much. Sahri buries her head in G’raha’s chest and wills it all away. Go away. Go away…

She feels G’raha sit her down, but she refuses to open her eyes, consumed in full-body tremors. She knows that if she opens her eyes, all would be burning around her. But...But through it all...she notices the sensation of two warm hands encircling her own.

“...Sahri. Sah… my voice…Breathe for me, please.”

G’raha’s voice latches as a tether to her free-floating body, setting an intent to her drift. Breathe...she tries to steady her breathing, as he said. Focus on the sensation of his hands. Her...Her Raha...Her Raha’s hands. She dares to peek open her eyes, finding that striking red at perfect level. His face is all she can see, and a smile blooms on it. 

“Good...Good. Stay with me, now. Stay breathing, Sahri.” 

Sahri...Yes. That was her name. She stays looking into his eyes. Sahri Rhoshaan. Warrior of Darkness. Daughter of Ala Mhigo. She feels herself finally, finally coming to the ground. Pulse steadying, she hazards a glance around her. A small, circular room, with books strewn about the floor. These...These were G’raha’s quarters. In the Crystal Tower. She was...sitting on his bed. ...And she’d just had a complete and utter breakdown. She fishes for words, but only finds one. 

“...Sorry.” 

G’raha keeps smiling and shakes his head, using his thumb to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes. 

“No, no. Please don’t apologize.” He sits down next to her and pulls her into an embrace. Sahri’s eyes turn downwards, drilling holes into the floor. She feels shame welling in her chest. G’raha taps her shoulder, trying to regain her attention. “Do you...Do you want to talk about what happened out there?” Sahri slowly turns to face him, giving a few blinks. 

“...I’m not sure I know what happened, myself.” It’s honest. G’raha furrows his brow and begins to explain.

“You started shaking, badly, while we were speaking with Katliss.” His hold on her tightens. “And...You wouldn’t respond to a word I was saying. So, I...Frankly, I panicked and brought you back here. I believe you were muttering some things under your breath, but I couldn’t make them out.” 

“I...I see…” she responds weakly. She did not know what to make of that. And wasn’t sure she wanted to try.

“Are you feeling any calmer, now?” G’raha asks, concern evident underneath the smile he gave her.

Calmer...Yes. That’s what this void of emotion was, wasn’t it? Sahri nods, refusing to look G’raha in the eyes.

“...Should I take you to be examined by Chesamille?” G’raha asks, hesitantly. Sahri shakes her head.

“No, no. I’m not ill.” Her tone is flat, drawing a frown from the Exarch.

“Some overwhelming emotions, then?” Sahri tenses, hating how close he was to the mark. “It was not uncommon to see people struggling with such in the Eighth Umbral Era. Twas a difficult time for one and all. There is no simple solution, but perhaps you might share what weighs on you?” To his dismay, Sahri shakes her head.

“It’s fine. Just a bad day.” She convinced neither. “I’ll sleep it off.”

“...With all due respect, that usually is not how it works.” Sahri still refuses to look at him.

“I’ll be fine, Raha,” she repeats more firmly. 

“..........If not me…” G’raha’s voice sounds sorrowful. “...If not me, then surely there is someone you might--”

_“Not looking so well, are you, hero?”_

Sahri snaps. She jerks out of G’raha’s hold, stepping a few feet back and baring her teeth at him. A tiny burst of light goes off in front of her hand as warning.

“I said I’ll be _fine_ , Raha.”

Seeing the genuine fear in G’raha’s eyes, body recoiled back, realization sweeps over Sahri of what she’d just done. The anger retreats from her face. She glances at her hand to see the last wisps of light from the spell fade away. It’s trembling, again. Tears fall unbidden from her eyes.

“...I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Raha…” Sahri sinks to her knees, hugging her arms to herself. “I’m… *Sniff* I’m s-sorry, I…” She weeps. When she feels G’raha kneeling to pull her into an embrace, she only grows louder, burying her face in his shoulder. G’raha lifts her up and sits back on the bed, holding Sahri to his chest. She isn’t sure how long she cries, but eventually, she does run out of tears, settling into silence. She feels a kiss to her forehead, and G’raha pulls her back just enough to look at her face. His smile...it’s soothing. 

“Take your time, please. We’ll only speak of it when you’re ready. Might there be a way I may bring you some ease in the meantime?”

Sahri ponders to herself, casting a glance around the room. Immediately, the books catch her attention. The thought of G’raha laying on this bed, reading them, brings with it a warm trickle of memories. Sahri reclaims her smile. 

“...If I know you, I’d say most, if not all of these are history books, right?” Sahri turns back towards G’raha, and warmth floods his eyes at seeing her smile. 

“There….are a few about the arcane arts,” he says sheepishly, “but you would be right. Most chronicle the events of your time or those following the Eighth Umbral Calamity, which no longer seem of much relevance. But I also have a collection about Norvrandt’s history before the flood, kindly loaned to me by Moren.”

“Would you pick one and talk to me about it?” Sahri requests. “It was always so relaxing to hear you indulge your passion for history. Allag and Sharlyan particularly interested you, as I recall.”

“I recall you often falling asleep mid-explanation,” G’raha retorts, cracking a smirk. That earns a giggle from Sahri.

“From contentment, not boredom. Please, Raha?” G’raha pets her.

“If you insist. Tell me, is there any particular chapter of Norvrandt’s history which piques your curiosity?” 

Sahri answers immediately. “Voeburt. Tell me about Voeburt.” G’raha’s eyes sparkle. 

“Voeburt! That, I have a wealth of material on. You’ve picked an interesting tale indeed, my love. Allow me to gather the tomes…”

As it turned out, the two would spend the rest of their day discussing Voeburt and the tale of its union between peoples, only breaking for meals. (Meals which G’raha insisted on preparing for Sahri.) And as day became night, and Sahri’s eyelids grew heavy, it was her Raha’s voice that carried her to slumber. Finding his love asleep on his bed, G’raha Tia was left with no choice but to cuddle close next to her.

………………………………………………………………………..

_“...Did that really need turn into a contest of wits with Hythlodaeus? You were so occupied in the Hall of Rhetoric that we were nearly late for the Convocation’s meeting.” While her love tries his best to imbue his voice with exasperation, there was no missing the small smile which graced his lips. She shrugs._

_“It was not my fault he decided to declare something so utterly foolish. It would not have served to move on without correcting him.” She looks content, but her love sighs._

_“As I recall, he did not much accept the premise of your ‘correction,’” he tries to tell her, but is only met with a devious expression._

_“Only because he was being stubborn. Do you propose that a second round is in order, then? Let us track him down.” When she tries to walk away, an arm encircles her shoulder, holding her in place._

_“Oh, no, you don’t,” her love stops her. “The hour is far too late. The two of us must be headed home. I swear, you are a handful…” The affection in his eyes shines from behind his mask, kindling a gentle flame in her heart._

_“Yet that is so much of why you love me, isn’t it, Hades?” She already knew the answer._

_“You know well that it is,” he says, echoing her mind. “My heart has not known freedom from your peculiar charm since the day we first met.” Heart swelling, she stands on her toes to press a sweet kiss to his lips. He continues._

_“Shall we be off, then, ______?”_

_...Strange. Where should have been her name, she heard only a void of sound. Her...name...When she turned to ask him to repeat what he’d said, the sight she beheld knocked all wind from her. Hades was suddenly halfway across the room, facing her but sinking slowly back. Her attempts to walk, then run yielded no distance gained. There was a gruesome, gaping hole in his chest, colored by blue aether, and light dripped from his smile like blood._

_“Remember...that we once lived…”_

_Glancing at her hand, the lost woman sees an axe of blinding light, the weapon that had vanquished her love. She tries to throw it away, but it does not move from its position. Her hand will not uncurl. And no matter how much she screamed and screamed, no sound would come._

_“Remember us....”_

…………………………………………………………………….

Head feeling clouded, Sahri’s eyes slowly open. She immediately notices a soreness in her arm, as well as a slight sting on her head. Was she...was she on the floor? She feels hands on her--G’raha’s hands. 

“Are you awake, Sahri?”

Sahri maneuvers herself into a sitting position, tapping at her arm to find a growing purple splotch.

“Oh, you must have bruised your arm when you rolled off the bed. Allow me.” G’raha places his hand on her bruise and the relief of healing magic sweeps through Sahri’s body. It was enough to help her process G’raha’s words.

“Roll off...the bed? Was that…” She pauses. “...Was that a nightmare?” G’raha nods at her.

“I would...have to imagine so. Sound asleep, you started screaming. ...Well, screaming a name.” His brow furrows. Sahri’s eyes grow wide.

“...A name?” Sahri dares to ask. 

“Yes.” G’raha’s expression was dark. “Hades, Hades…”

“...Oh.” Sahri hugs her knees to her chest. Surprisingly, she does not cry--merely sits there, soul slowly being crushed. G’raha takes a seat next to her. It is a few minutes before either says anything more. 

“.......Perhaps...The Crystarium is not the best environment for you. Not at this time.” G’raha sounds resigned, and Sahri’s heart fills with panic.

“W-What do you mean?” she asks with a frantic edge to her voice.

“You seemed your normal self when we stayed in last night. This morning, as well, before we departed. But the moment we stepped outside your door, I could sense something was wrong. Come to think of it, it was only when I pointed out the activities of the residents that you began to deteriorate in earnest, wasn’t it? And you would not stop glancing in the direction of the Crystal Tower…” He turns to her. “Did something about it set you off?” 

How could G’raha still read her mind so well? She was terrified of where he was going with this.

“...It...might have. But...Please don’t send me back to the Source,” she pleads. “P-Please…” G’raha rubs her back reassuringly. 

“I will not force you to do anything you do not wish. I’d suspect the Source was not much better for you--That’s why you came back so quickly, wasn’t it?” He hit upon the nail yet again. She won’t lie to him. She nods.

“Clearly, your journey has affected something deep in you. You must take time to recover. Yet...as much as I would love to have you here, healing at my side...It is certain something about the city suits you ill. And I know you are not one who could stay well content in an enclosed space all day.”

Sahri buried her head in her legs in defeat. She knew G’raha was right, and she hated it. 

“...I don’t want to leave you. Not again. Not so soon,” she whispers, mournful. Arms close around her. 

“I am not looking to sleep again any time soon, love. I will be here, any time you might need me. I swear to you.” He takes her hand and kisses it. “But you must agree there are more suitable locations in the First for your recuperation. A less populated area, perhaps?” 

Begrudgingly, Sahri nods. She leans into G’raha’s shoulder as he speculates out loud.

“Hmm...Eulmore is certainly out of the question, and with the Ladder being repaired I suspect even the more remote parts of Kholusia will see a flurry of new activity.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “How did you get along with the fae folk of Il Mheg?” Sahri grimaces and shakes her head.

“I adore Feo Ul, but living in close proximity to the pixies might drive me to true insanity.” She hears G’raha chuckle at that.

“More than understandable, of course. Let us see...There are few spots in Lakeland where the Crystal Tower is not a visible presence.” 

“And before you suggest Amh Araeng,” Sahri interrupts, “while the people are lovely, the desert never truly agreed with me.” G’raha shakes his head.

“I was actually going to suggest Rak’tika next. For one who grew to adulthood in the woods, perhaps the trees would provide a modicum of comfort.”

The Greatwood...Now there was an idea. Recalling her time with the Night’s Blessed, Sahri could not but smile.

“...Actually...I do...have fond memories of my time in Slitherbough. The people were ever so kind and welcoming. And how they lived...relying on the joint efforts of their community to sustain themselves...It...Well. It reminded me of how I was raised.” She looks to G’raha to see his smile has gone wide.

“Slitherbough...Of course. That seems like a most suitable location. Perhaps we could petition them to take you in for a while.” The gears in G’raha’s head were turning, but Sahri was hesitant.

“I...I would not want to impose on their hospitality…” She receives a shake of the head from G’raha in response.

“Impose? They would be overjoyed by the presence of their Warrior of Darkness, I’m certain. And you could contribute to their community in turn. A balance can be struck. What say you?”

“I…” Sahri trails off. “I still don’t want to leave you.” A hand on her cheek directs her gaze towards G’raha’s kind eyes.

“I understand. Truly, I do. But please consider it. If not for your own sake, then for mine. Watching you suffer so torments my heart. I want nothing more than to see you well again.” 

Oh, she could not deny those eyes. 

“...Alright. I’ll...I’ll try it. But if it’s not helpful, I’m coming right back to you. Deal?” 

G’raha nods emphatically. “Deal. Thank you, Sahri. We can attend to preparations tomorrow. For now, you should get some more rest. Do not fear--I’ll be right there beside you.”

Feeling her eyes watering, Sahri kisses him. She allows herself to be picked up and set back down on G’raha’s bed for the second time that day, immediately feeling a warm presence crawling in beside her. He held her close, and she pressed her body into his as deeply as she could. She wanted to savor it while she had the chance. Leaning back into his arms, she mutters…

“I love you, Raha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually charted out the two's walk in game before writing this!


	4. Run from the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sahri takes a moment to reflect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny baby chapter that's a relic of the time before I was dividing this fic into distinct segments. Still, I'm happy with it!

Their traveling party was nothing if not conspicuous. Sahri had hoped to travel to Rak’tika alone, in the dead of night, but G’raha had insisted on accompanying her. And when she found out the Exarch planned to travel, Commander Lyna refused to let him leave without her and her finest guards escorting him. Apparently his kidnapping at the hands of Emet-Selch had caused her to redouble her caution. The trip needed to be moved up to the daytime, of course, so potential dangers could not make use of the cover of darkness. Thus Sahri’s hopes of a quiet journey in anonymity had faded. At least they would not be in Lakeland for long. 

Thankfully, Sahri felt immediate relief upon departing the thriving city for the tamer woods in between. (G’raha’s arm at her back helped remind her to keep looking ahead, not behind.) Lakeland’s purple trees had been the first thing that caught her attention upon arriving in the First, and even now their otherworldly beauty often had Sahri staring. Though their color differed from the ones that populated the Twelveswood, their sight provided a familiarity, a similar relief. Already, Sahri knew G’raha’s plan had more merit than she’d wished to concede. 

The group made a stop at Fort Jobb, and while its numbers still stood thinned by the sin eaters’ massacre, the soldiers shared a new spark of life with the Crystarium’s residents. Near the entire outpost descended upon the group when they saw their approach, regaling them all with greetings and thanks--Sahri, especially. For returning night to Norvrandt, yes, but also for the lives she’d saved on the day the sin eaters attacked. More than a few had personal stories of Sahri stepping in to defend them from a beast that had them on the back foot, or providing stabilizing healing that helped them live to witness the next night. 

Seeing the smiling faces of those whose lives she had a direct hand in maintaining the flame of evoked a measure of calm in her. She did not think she was headed towards another breakdown. But even under the best of circumstances, such a concerted congregation of attention directed at her might start to overwhelm. Likely sensing this, G’raha intervened with tales of his own, creating an opening for Sahri to slip away unnoticed til energies calmed. Sahri found herself wandering towards the ruins of the Church of the First Light, and with a lack of superior options she descended into its depths. The dark afforded her peace, and she sat down on a worn pew, lost in thought. 

Such an organized place of worship eluded Sahri’s understanding. Her only experience with religion so structured was that of Ishgard--and for all the northern land had become a second home to her, her experiences with its Church were far from positive. She was much more accustomed to the more free-form nature of religion in the Twelveswood--reverence for nature and the spirits which comprised it, thanking Nophica for plentiful bounties. That was the sort of religion she’d been trained in, that she thought to help spread before becoming an adventurer. She no longer held the conviction to worship gods--they were not so distant, now, much too flawed. ( _ Too dangerous to be trusted. _ ) Yet the fundamental tenets remained appealing. A deep respect for the world around and people within, and all they had to offer. Compared to that, such a church felt superimposed. ...That was the way of Light, she supposed. Stasis, rigidity, structure. According to Urianger, at least. No wonder the Night’s Blessed took their worship of the Dark elsewhere. 

“I thought I might find you here,” G’raha’s voice echoes out from behind her. Sahri smiles in his direction and waves him over to sit by her. The two settle in next to each other, and Sahri leans her head on his shoulder.

“Ah, simply stepping in here is enough to stir the young Archon in me,” he muses. “What a fascinating microcosm of history these ruins are. A monument to a faith torn asunder by the Flood, as well as the birthplace of one anew. The legacy of which is our very friends in Slitherbough we are now traveling to meet.”

“...A much worthier faith did the Night’s Blessed create from those ashes,” Sahri responds, an unexpected bitterness to her tone. 

“I...I’m surprised you have such strong opinions on the matter,” G’raha says, taken aback. “Do you know aught of the history of the Church of the First Light?”

“...No. Not much,” she admits, suddenly feeling foolish.

“Hmm…” G’raha scrutinizes her. “Well, however lovely a people the Night’s Blessed have created today, it would be premature to judge earlier religions by their simple contrast. All faiths are products of their moments in time, all contain their share of heroes and villains.” He pauses. “And I might point out, this church was not undone by lies and betrayal of the likes you encountered in Ishgard. Rather, a calamity they had no control over.” 

Sahri sighs. “You’re right, of course. Don’t mind my musings.” Before G’raha can respond, she sits up and gives him a smile. “I take it you’ve examined these ruins in detail, then? Was that when you planted the tome here for us to find?” G’raha gives a shy laugh.

“A time before, actually.” He rubs the back of his neck. Far, far too adorable. 

“Why did you have us search this place for that tome in the first place?” Sahri teases. “You could have just as easily given it to us, or relayed its contents yourself.” 

“Well...It allowed you the chance to witness history with your own eyes, did it not?” G’raha offers in his defense. He smirks. “Besides, was it not more entertaining that way?” Sahri shakes her head, exasperated.

“You and your fun. You ever were a mischievous one.” Sahri smiles fondly. “That was how we met, after all.” G’raha stares at her blankly. She throws up her arms. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten! The run-around with the aethersand?” Finally, his eyes light with recognition.

“Oh...Oh gods, I’m afraid I  _ had _ well forgotten about that.” Embarrassment fills his voice. “The hassle I put you through...What foolish things I did in my youth.”

“You still do foolish things. Foolish, and thoroughly reckless.”

“I suppose you’re right,” G’raha says with a laugh. “Pray forgive me?” Sahri’s eyes narrow with affection. She places her hand atop his. 

“Of course. Your spirit is part of why I love you so, G’raha Tia.” The mere mention of his name looks to threaten to push the man into tears.

“Ah...However much you call me that, it still comes as a shock each and every time.” He turns his hand upwards to hold hers. “It is a name I thought long lost to the ravages of the ages, along with the man it represented. Yet hearing my long-lost love utter it once more brings those ancient memories ever bursting forward, binding them to the present.”

Sahri was overcome with a sudden bout of the utmost loneliness, heart contorting in pain. She squeezes her love’s hand tightly.

“I...I’m going to miss you, Raha,” she confesses, with no shortage of sorrow in her voice. His eyes widen with sympathy, and he puts a soothing hand to her cheek.

“And I you, Sahri,” he tells her. “But it is not a goodbye. Any length of time apart is worth your recuperation.” 

Somehow, the pain turned all the more acute. Unable to muster any words, Sahri presses her lips against his, craving the comfort of the gesture. G’raha responds with tenderness, a hand still holding her head, and the two linger til a voice cuts through the darkness. 

“I-- _ Ahem. _ Exarch. There you are.” Sahri and G’raha break their kiss, turning back to see Commander Lyna standing in the stairwell--refusing to make eye contact. Even in the low blue light, Sahri could see the flush on her face. 

“The--The troops have all returned to their usual posts. We would be prudent to depart soon if we are to make it to Rak’tika in a timely manner. I will...We will wait in the outskirts of the fort until you and the Warrior of Darkness are ready.” 

This poor Viis...Sahri had never seen her stumble over her own words before, and she did not blame the woman for quickly seeing herself out. Soon, the sound of frantic footsteps faded and the two were left in the quiet dark once more.

“...Oops.” Sahri cannot help but feel a tad guilty. G’raha shakes his head with a resigned smile. 

“Oh, dear. I dare say we’ve given the girl a sight she’ll not soon forget--however much she may wish to.” He turns to Sahri. “Well, the best thing we can do is not stoke her imagination further and hurry to her side. Are you ready, Warrior of Darkness?”

Smiling, Sahri nods, and the two depart the church hand-in-hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just call me grandma, Lyna


	5. One Brings Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an unexpected encounter in the woods, Sahri finds someone long forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #  **Part 2: Lady Lukah of the Sunless Sea**

_ Managing to slip free from Slitherbough unnoticed, Sahri leans herself against a tree just beyond its outskirts. She needed--she needed to clear her head, but her raging thoughts would not slow, no matter how much she squeezed her eyes shut. The way Y’shtola had looked at her...Like...like she was a monster. A beast to be annihilated. And when she realized her mistake, the horror in her eyes… _

_ Her aether--her soul was that of a sin eater’s. Sahri wished it was surprising, but really, she knew. She already knew. There was never any negation of the light. But the fact she’d just had that confirmed in the most painful possible way...It--She struggled to stand steady on her feet. Where, exactly, was this leading? She rejected the most obvious answer. That...was too terrifying a thought to consider, now. She needed to focus on the path ahead of her. Walk it, unwavering, no matter what lay at its end. She reaches a trembling hand to her staff, embracing the cool glow against her body.  _

_ “Ysayle...Help me find my strength.” _

_ She’s almost starting to feel calm again when a most unwelcome voice calls out ahead of her. _

_ “Naming your own weapon? Rather gauche, if I say so myself.” _

_ The Ascian--Emet-Selch, Sahri reminds herself--materializes in a rift of darkness before her, his hands and shoulders in a shrug and amusement written across his face. Sahri bares her teeth. This was about the last person she wanted to deal with right now.  _

_ “...Not the weapon,” Sahri explains, failing to conceal the frustration in her voice. “It’s the name of the woman who gave it to me.” _

_ Given his carefree distance thus far, Sahri is shocked to see the Ascian’s eyes flood with venom. His glare sends an odd tingle down her spine that she’d be far too ashamed to ever admit. Yet he remains smiling, betraying no other hint of aggravation when he responds.  _

_ “Oh, I believe I understand. A keepsake from a long-departed lover?” Damn it. How could he…? Sahri knows the anger manifest in her eyes only confirms his suspicions. “How very like you. My sympathies for your most tragic loss.” Emet-Selch gives a solemn bow, and Sahri knows she’s being mocked. “Though a fair word of warning, if you’ll allow me. Names are rather flimsy as vehicles of hope. They crumple as freely as the seasons turn. Sometimes they disappear the instant they’re born, and others they linger far longer than planned. But never do they last.” _

_ Sahri was rapidly losing her patience with his riddles. _

_ “You vanish when we are in danger and come to torment me when I desire a moment of privacy?” Her voice is a low growl. “A worthy ally you are proving yourself to be.” Sahri’s fury only rises when she sees amusement return to Emet-Selch’s face in full. _

_ “Now, now. I believe I’m a victim of unfair assumptions, here,” he says while shaking his head. “When I witnessed you run off on your lonesome, I simply found myself concerned for your wellbeing.” Sahri’s heart sinks, and her anger begins to drop to a gloom. “Whatever ails you, hero?” _

_ For whatever amusement he derived from the situation, Emet-Selch seemed genuine in his curiosity. If her distress was so obvious, she needed an outlet--the others couldn’t know. ...Was she really going to…? She looks the man over, feeling a small stirring of comfort in defiance of her mind. For some reason, part of her screams to spill the contents of her soul to this man. Emet-Selch...This familiarity was from more than a glance in the history books. Sahri is certain she knows him. Somewhere, somehow… _

_ She sighs. She’d have to be careful. _

_ “...I put some troubling thoughts together,” she confesses. “I needed a moment to consider them.” Emet-Selch looks quite pleased. _

_ “Did you finally realize the lie your dear Exarch told you?” he asks with glee. Sahri bites her lip, casting her gaze downwards, and nods. “Sharper than I gave you credit for, I’ll admit. What now, then? Is it already time to abandon course?” Sahri shakes her head emphatically.  _

_ “No. He may have lied, but that doesn’t make this journey any less important. I have to see it through. I must.”  _

_ Emet-Selch raises an eyebrow. “For whose sake, exactly? Do you wish to avoid your death in the coming Calamity? You know, it would be a simple matter to personally assure your safety through it. After a few...concessions, of course.” Smirking, he adds, “Ah, but a little bird tells me that’s not quite what you’re concerned about. Is it your ‘friends’ you seek to protect?”  _

_ “Of course I want to protect them.” Sahri gives him a determined glare, prompting an exasperated hand to Emet-Selch’s head. _

_ “And how have these Scions been ‘friends,’ exactly? Constantly sending you to do their dirty work?” He shakes his head in disapproval. “Be honest with yourself. Excepting the precious, naive little Oracle, they must all have some inkling of what’s truly going on. If nothing else, they choose to believe the Exarch’s lie. And have any of them spoken a word of it? What about the ‘friend’ who had an arrow pointed at your heart?” _

_ This man was an expert in identifying and pressuring sore points, apparently. Sahri grimaces, willing herself not to cry. He continues. _

_ “For however much enmity you point in my direction, I dare say I might be the most honest person in your life right now.”  _

_ Sahri wishes he was still grinning. It was easier to deal with than the serious gaze--pity?--Emet-Selch now wore. Why did he have to be so frustratingly correct? But no--No. She focuses on the memory of Ysayle she still holds in her hands. He will not shake her resolve. She gives him all she can muster. _

_ “While I love them--gladly trust them with my life--it’s not out of loyalty to the Scions I’m doing this.” _

_ “Oh?” _

_ “The people of this world are suffering. If there is anything I can do--anything I can give for them, to reduce their suffering, save their lives...I will. I will, even if it costs me my own. That’s what’s right.” _

_ Sahri had expected more condescension, more pity. She was not prepared to see Emet-Selch’s face contort in surprise, and then disgust. Nor was she prepared for him to storm forward, closing the distance between them until her back pressed against the trunk of the tree behind her. He lay no hand upon her, but she felt pinned down by his looming glare. The difference in their size was stark. _

_ “These people?” Sahri hears chords of despair behind his anger. “These people are the ones you want to lay down your life to save? They’re nothing to you--have never done a damned thing for you!”  _

_ She can’t look away from the sheer intensity of his eyes--the flames burning behind them. His passion was terrifying and enrapturing all in one, and it made her legs feel weak.  _

_ “Surely you have people you truly care for--more than these hopeless fools. Is it not them you should be concerned about instead? Do you value your life so little that you’re content to waste it on the first craven you come across sobbing for help? Why must you always--?” Emet-Selch’s eyes go wide, and he cuts himself off with a deep sigh. He holds his head and shakes it. Sahri’s heart pounds in her ears. _

_ “...Oh, what’s the point? I’d have better luck talking to the tree behind you.” When he returns his gaze, Sahri finds it subdued. The passion is not gone, but filtered by a layer of resignation. She needs it back. Oh, this was a dangerous game to play, she knew--Gods, what had come over her? She wanted to stoke the fire again. Emet-Selch’s look turns quizzical. _

_ “...And why, pray tell, are you looking at me so peculiarly?”  _

_ “It almost sounds like you care about me, Ascian.” She gives him a small smile, as if to taunt him. She could swear he nearly rolled his eyes. _

_ “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he sighs. “Spreading your joy and love to all you meet. What an utterly frustrating woman.”  _

_ Sahri’s next words shock even her. _

_ “Care to let out some of that frustration, then?”  _

_ Emet-Selch scowls. “I don’t catch your meaning, hero.” Sahri’s pulse quickens under his scrutiny. She’d think she would be nervous, with what she was about to ask next from one of her worst enemies. But instead, a steady fire of her own burns, and above all else, she feels...excited. _

_ “Hit me.” Two words, said with exacting deliberation. Emet-Selch looks utterly baffled. _

_ “...Some ploy to prove to your ‘friends’ the unworthiness of our alliance? You’ll have to try a little harder than that, I’m afraid.” Sahri does not flinch. _

_ “No. I won’t tell a soul. And I won’t fight back. You want to, don’t you?” she asks with intensity. Emet-Selch gives his best annoyed frown, but Sahri sees the flames building up again. _

_ “I fear you might be confusing what it is I want with what it is you want.” Neither turns their eyes from the other. Sahri can hear the air crackling between them. _

_ “Am I?” _

_ Sahri grunts when their staredown is broken by the crack of a hard *slap* against her cheek. Fortunately for her, it was with the strength of a man, rather than a superhuman, but it still sent her reeling. She drops her staff and falls to her knees, turned around so her back now faces the Ascian. Her face hurt, badly. It was...utterly cathartic.  _

_ “You did not exactly make that sound painful. Enjoyable, even, if I didn’t know any better.” There’s a note of levity in Emet-Selch’s voice, and his tone has Sahri scrambling to undo the clasp of her robe. She throws it over her head and stands to face him, leaving her only in her boots and short, thin dress.  _

_ “Use me.” She puts her body on display for him. The smirk on his face and keen gaze raking her over had heat pooling at her core--not to mention, between her legs.  _

_ “What, and bend you over and call you a whore? Why is it that women always ask that of me? Even a few men, if you would believe.”  _

_ “Whatever you want.” Sahri’s eyes turn from intense to pleading. “Please.” The perfect opportunity to pour out her sorrows over the last few months had just presented itself. By the Twelve, she needed this. Needed him to unleash that intensity on her. To see more of what lays behind Emet-Selch’s eyes. To be used as the filth he regarded her. _

_ Emet-Selch huffs. “No, no, don’t start begging. I could not stand that.” He beckons. “Come here, then.” _

_ After she takes a few steps forward, Emet-Selch roughly seizes Sahri by the arms and pulls her towards him, sinking his teeth into her neck. He is not a man to do things in halves, and Sahri cannot contain a moan. Oh, she hopes no one is in earshot. She’s suddenly extremely grateful for her robe’s collar, as fierce bite after fierce bite would assuredly be leaving a very different collar for all to see. The thought filled Sahri with even more heat than the tingles of pleasure laced in each pain.  _

_ He pulls away briefly, and Sahri hazards a glance at his face--overwhelmed by what she finds. The flaring anger of earlier had been transformed into sheer lust, an intensity she wanted to give her everything to. Throwing her arms around his neck, she dives forward into a kiss. If this catches him off guard, he doesn’t show it, as he clashes his lips right back against hers and forces his tongue between them. One sound of Sahri’s need blends into the next, and her constant stream of moans into his mouth is only made louder when he bites her lip. Apparently it affected something in him, as Sahri soon found herself turned around and front pressed against the tree. Emet-Selch leans close behind her, breathing into her ear.  _

_ “I dare say Lahabrea never considered this means of subduing the Source’s hero,” he tells her glibly. Sahri whimpers when she feels him push up her dress and squeeze her ass roughly. “Do I sense restraint? By all means, enjoy yourself. Be as loud as you’d like. I’ll ensure no poor souls happen to hear you.” When he squeezes her ass again, Sahri allows herself to moan into the open. “Much better.” _

_ Instead of continuing his banter, Emet-Selch occupies his mouth with the side of Sahri’s neck he’d neglected earlier.  _

_ “I...F-Fuck,” is all Sahri manages.  _

_ His hands leave her rear, beginning to slowly, deliberately rake his nails up her back as he lifts up her dress. Even blunted by his gloves, the thrill was enough to set Sahri trembling. She hoped he left marks. Many marks. Marks that days later she would see in her reflection and make her recall exactly what it was they had done together. Near the top of her back, his hands deftly undo her bra and move to cup her breasts. He pinches her nipples, rolling them in his fingers, and the pain in such a sensitive place draws from her something more akin to a small scream. Fuck, she loved it. This was pain she’d been yearning for above all else. _

_ Emet-Selch briefly pulls her back from the tree to hoist the dress over her head, and Sahri gladly complies. Her bra falls down to the forest floor along with it. Lest she imagined she was getting a moment of reprieve, he immediately returned her to position with a slam. The rough bark against bare, sensitive skin was an odd feeling, and she was certain she’d walk away with more than a few scrapes--but that was just part of the fun. With one hand, Emet-Selch grabs hold of her hair and pulls, earning a yelp. With the other… _

_ Oh. _

_ Sahri willed her legs not to give out when a gloved hand slips under her panties to her frankly soaking folds. She hears the Ascian whistle. _

_ “Did I really do so excellent a job? Perhaps I would be within my rights to call you a whore.” A shudder runs down Sahri’s spine. “Alas, I strive for higher standards from myself.” _

_ Sahri lets out a strangled gasp when Emet-Selch’s fingers make a direct route to her clit. Fuck--Usually men needed to search a little more, but he showed no hesitation. Immortality provides ample opportunity for experience, she supposes. He massages her clit enough to earn a few moans, but it’s clearly not his final destination. Two fingers trace her slit then plunge inwards, immediately curling in a spot that made her fall to her knees. It was uncanny how well he knew her body.  _

_ “I was wondering when that might happen. Your legs looked ready to give any moment. And so the great hero falls, hm?” Sahri cannot see his face, but judging from the tone of his voice, the man is having a grand time watching her come undone. Good. Let him. She wanted it. She needed it, to fill the gaping hole in her heart she was only just starting to notice. Emet-Selch continues to toy with and stretch her yet, managing to fit a third finger into her core...But after a few minutes, he slows down, prompting a whine. She feels him sidle up next to her ear.  _

_ “All that effort on your behalf, and you won’t award me with even one pretty little moan of my name?”  _

_ For some reason, the question frustrates Sahri, even with her eagerness to be taken--consumed by this man. So instead, she gives him a cheeky reply. _

_ “I’ve not even heard you call me by my name, here or elsewise. Not once.” _

_ Emet-Selch’s laugh is bitter. _

_ “If I did, would you recognize it?” _

_ This new question set Sahri’s mind in tumbling freefall. It--What did he--? Another riddle, yes, but one that made something deep in her soul ache. So engrossed was she in finding an answer that she didn’t notice when Emet-Selch withdrew his fingers. Nothing, however, could distract her when a blunt tip presses against her entrance.  _

_ “This might provide more incentive,” he remarks, sounding all-too-pleased.  _

_ Sahri gasps, her toes curling when his cock slides inside. She buries her face into her arms. The earlier ministrations of his fingers, combined with her dripping wetness, made his entry a relatively smooth one. Gods. If he was going to honest-to-goodness fuck her, by the Twelve she’d play along. She was so full, and she wanted to feel it.  _

_ “Em--Emet...” she tries when he gives an experimental thrust. His response is the stinging of a hand brought down upon her backside.  _

_ “Wrong.” _

_ Sahri moans. Oh gods, she liked that. This was to be the game, then? Surprisingly straightforward. _

_ Another thrust. “Em...Emet-Selch!” she tries in full. She hates that he keeps stopping--and is shocked when she feels another spank.  _

_ “Wrong again.”  _

_ Wh-what? That wasn’t… ...Well, part of her knew that wasn’t right. Ascians probably don’t go around giving people their real names. But she’s not sure what else to try. She should know this. She does know this. But when she tries to follow the strands of her memory, she finds blank space where the answer should be. Ugh. Only one other option, she supposes. _

_ “S...Solus?”  _

_ *Slap.* _

_ “Come now! You know that one was an assumed identity.”  _

_ Was this a lengthy tease to deny her, all along? That seemed...very in-character, from what she knew, but gods what she wouldn’t do to avoid it. Sahri rocks her hips back into Emet-Selch’s cock, gasping at the friction. _

_ “Please...I don’t know, but please, Emet.” *Slap.* Emet...Yes, that worked well enough. The right cadence. Sharp, two syllables. “Fuck me, Emet,” she whines. *Slap.* If the Scions could but see her now… How low had she fallen, to be begging for pleasure from an Ascian? Not low enough to shake her from her course, apparently. Sahri ever was stubborn. If she was to be filth, she would embrace it. She wouldn’t be around much longer to feel shame for it, anyways.  _

_ “Please, Emet, I need--” _

_ *Slap.*  _

_ “I told you not to beg, didn’t I?” Emet sighs. “Oh, fine.” He leans into her ear to whisper. “If that’s your best answer, hero, I suppose it will suffice. But you’ll still incur the penalty.” _

_ With that, Emet begins thrusting at an uneven but furious pace. Sahri grinds her hips back, her next moan deep. _

_ “Emet…!” _

_ *Slap.* _

_ And so the two continued apace--each call of the faulty name responded to in kind. Sahri was quickly discovering this was, in fact, a positive, every spank compounding her pleasure. So what if she couldn’t sit right the rest of the day? _

_ Through the fog of their seemingly discordant hearts--and utter lack of attempt to coordinate--Sahri was surprised to find the two had settled upon a natural pace. No, more than that--Sahri could anticipate his every speedup and slowdown, be ready to match. She--she knew how this man made love. It was familiar. It was comfortable. It...She was smiling. Smiling! She was being roughly fucked against a tree by her enemy, a monster, a murderer of millions, and she was smiling! As if it was the most perfectly normal thing, how he knew how to take her apart. Like this is how it should be. What it should have been from the start. Sahri was at ease. Complete and utter ease. Whatever awaited her...In this moment, she was right. Right, again.  _

_ Sahri comes, walls clenching around the cock thrusting inside her, and she hears a strained sound from Emet as he spills his seed within her. (Another bout of perfect timing.) Hearing such a sound from him filled Sahri with...smug satisfaction, of all things. Peculiar. He wastes little time in withdrawing, and the lack of presence inside her quickly has her feeling cold. _

_ “I trust that was to your liking,” she hears, terse, from behind her.  _

_ “Actually...Hm?” When she turns around, Emet is already gone. Huh. She was certain he’d have wanted to get in a few more jabs. Had...had she imagined the entire encounter? Glancing between her legs, she quickly confirms she did not. Well...Not that it mattered. Even if the quick exit stung more than it reasonably should.  _

_ Sahri leans back against the tree trunk and catches her breath. She was winded, bruises and scrapes littering her body, arse redder than Alphinaud’s face at the Eulmore showers... And the most relaxed she’d felt in weeks. If not months.  _

_ That would quickly evaporate, she knew. And it would not behoove her to linger here. She’d already been gone much longer than intended. The Scions might come looking for her, and she was not keen to explain this to them. Sahri hobbles to her feet, sighing as she looks at her clothes strewn across the ground. How was she to make herself presentable? _

_ At least she’d managed to get Feo Ul to smuggle those pregnancy-suppressing herbs into the First after her “incident” in Eulmore, Sahri thinks. She did not wish to birth Garlemald’s next heir… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sahri has a bad habit of pursuing self-destructive sex as a coping mechanism, please don't fuck random Ascians in the woods without protection 
> 
> Also not every chapter title is meant to be a lyric, if you would believe. I mostly wanted to do that for Part 1 and these Emet flashback scenes. Other chapters will have their own names from now on...with one exception


	6. Baptism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a warm welcome, a new home.

The party knew it neared its destination when they walked past the remnants of the old Fort Gohn. There was no path to Slitherbough from Lakeland that did not pass by it. Even the Crystarium guards with no knowledge of the situation turned solemn at the sight. There was no mistaking the indiscriminate destruction wrought by the sin eaters. Scorch marks riddled the remaining structures. The terror those flames of destruction must have brought, with beasts raining down from above... Sahri could hear the wails. Taste the blood. She--She could…

“Sahri. Sahri, please look at me.” She turned to see a concerned G’raha, holding her trembling hand between his own. Lyna and the guards regarded each other with confusion. “Please, hold out just a little longer. We’re nearly at Slitherbough. Let us not linger.” Gathering herself, Sahri nods, and the group continues once more. 

She tries her best to lose herself in the trees, instead--towering majesties of nature. They had ever endured in the face of the light, and now stood to thrive once more. A gorgeous sky of green, wildlife roaming free underneath. She inhales deeply. It had the smell of home...Of the Black Shroud, yes, but also the forested western edge of Gyr Abania--the trees among which she had been born. Closing her eyes, listening to its hum of sound, tranquility overtook her. As she had cleansed the taints in her training as a White Mage, she could feel the Greatwood doing the same for her soul. Ah...This was going to work. 

“We’ve arrived, Exarch.” 

Sahri opens her eyes to see the group staring down a familiar cave--Slitherbough’s long entryway. They were here. Sahri felt a prickle of nervousness.

“Warrior of Darkness--How should we proceed?” Lyna asks. “Should one of us go ahead and announce ourselves? It would not do to alarm the Night’s Blessed with armed soldiers entering their village.” Hmm...Sahri thinks to when she and the Scions first arrived in Rak’tika. She shakes her head.

“Prudent, Lyna, but it is fortunately unwarranted,” Sahri responds. “The Night’s Blessed constantly have guards on patrol. It is more than likely they already know we are here. If they were troubled by our presence, they would have intervened long before we made our way to Slitherbough’s gates.” 

“That saves us much trouble, then,” G’raha interjects. He smiles at Sahri, giving her hand a squeeze. “Well? Care to take the first steps, Sahri?” 

Sahri smiles back and nods, taking one more look down the cavern before stepping forward. The red candles lining the walls of the winding path struck Sahri no less than they had the first time she’d walked ‘twixt these walls of stone. She cannot help but question their color--after all, the rest of Slitherbough’s candles burned a startling blue. To serve as a warning, perhaps? Sahri couldn’t imagine that. Their warm flicker reminded her that flame held far more than its capability to destroy. 

“It is as we are walking through a corridor to another world, is it not?” G’raha remarks, interrupting Sahri’s train of thought. Hmm...She had to agree with that assessment. 

“To a place most ancient, at that,” Sahri responds, smiling. “I can only imagine how badly you wish to stay and learn their history from their own lips.” G’raha laughs.

“Oh, terribly so. I hope that I may one day hear it from yours, at the very least. So take good care of yourself.” 

“I...I’ll do my best,” Sahri offers. 

“Thank you. Now, would you care to greet them?”

Sahri hadn’t noticed the light peeking through from the end of the tunnel, and as they walked into the day, she saw there was a small crowd waiting for them. Clearly, she’d been correct in assuming their presence was known. A tall figure makes his way to the front of the gathering.

“Warrior of Darkness!” his voice bellows. Runar looked beside himself with glee. “And the Crystal Exarch, at that! When our scouts reported your approach, we could scarce believe our ears. How good it is to see you again!” 

Sahri can’t help but smile at him. Runar’s energy was contagious. 

“It is good to see you as well, Runar.” She waves at the crowd. “Allin tuta!” The Ronso’s expression grows even brighter. 

“You remembered! Allin tuta, my friend!” A disconnected chorus of ‘allin tuta’s follows his own, both from the people behind him and voices scattered throughout the village. Warmth bloomed in Sahri’s heart. It was a simple gesture, but one which wove a community together--served to bind them through joys and sorrows. And now, she was being greeted as part of their cloth. It was comforting beyond words. 

...She realizes that her friends may be at a bit of a disadvantage. 

“Ah! Allin tuta is a greeting of the Night’s Blessed,” she turns to explain. “It lets them know that you are a friend.” Sahri sees a glint in G’raha’s eyes--no doubt making a mental note of this cultural tidbit.

“I see...Then, allin tuta to you all, for the Night’s Blessed will ever be friends to the Crystarium.” Following the Exarch’s declaration, Lyna and the guard give their ‘allin tuta’s in turn. With greetings exchanged, the crowd begins to disperse--a few, such as Ersabel, giving Sahri a wave. Runar stays behind, clearly of the mind to have more words with them.

“Warrior of Darkness--and her esteemed companions. I take it you are here to speak with Master Matoya?” Runar’s mention of the Archon’s name finds Sahri’s eyes flying wide.

“She’s here? Y’sh--” Runar’s aghast expression helps Sahri catch herself. Right. She clears her throat. “Pardon me. Master Matoya is here?”

Runar calms, but looks confused. “You did not know?”

“Did I not mention it to you?” G’raha asks, drawing her attention. “Each of the Scions returned to the place they started this journey. Master Matoya included.” 

Sahri shakes her head. “No...I had no idea.” Y’shtola would be here, then? ...The thought had elated Sahri and filled her with dread all at once. What would Y’shtola think, seeing her like this…? 

“She is here, indeed,” Runar declares. “Currently, she is deep in study, so we elected not to inform her of your presence in the case you were simply passing by.” He scratches his cheek, a hint of nervousness appearing on his face. “...If not for Master Matoya, then why? I hope there is no trouble.” 

“No, no,” Sahri reassures him, earning some relief. “We simply…” ...Hm. How would she say this? “I…” Her throat suddenly feels dry. She could not think of a reason that didn’t fill her with deep shame. Luckily, G’raha intervenes. 

“If I may explain on her behalf,” he begins, “the Warrior of Darkness seeks some period of quiet after her battles with the Lightwardens. We talked it over and deemed Slitherbough a most suitable location. She feels a strong affinity with its people, you see, and it reminds her of her own childhood home. We thought to petition your aid, that you might take her in for a short while.” 

Phew...She could hear the decades of political experience in his words. When she looks back up from the hole her eyes had been digging in the ground, she finds Runar beaming.

“Petition our aid?” His voice is brimming with enthusiasm. “Why, you speak as if it would not be our greatest honor to take in the woman who returned to us our sunless sea!” He lets out a hearty guffaw. “Yes, absolutely! We would gladly! I assure you, all you ask will have the same answer.”

Sahri had been worried about this. 

“I...I would loathe to impose on your hospitality,” she tells him in a quiet voice. “If...If I am to stay here, I would ask to be treated the same as any other, and contribute as such.” She jerks in surprise when Runar places a hand on her shoulder. 

“Of course. We would ask no differently of you.” Runar’s eyes overflowed with understanding. “Lest you worry, the Night’s Blessed do not revere you as our new goddess. You are but another woman--one we have the utmost respect and admiration for, yes, but a woman. A woman who embodies our greatest ideals in how she lives her life. It would be an honor to see you practice them among us.” 

Sahri felt tears welling in her eyes. Oh, he had said just the right thing to help her accept this situation. What a kind, empathetic man Runar was...Little wonder Y’shtola had grown so attached to him. Sahri gives him a wide smile. 

“...Thank you, Runar. It...It would be my honor, as well.” Runar’s hand leaves her shoulder to grab her hand and shake it.

“Then, on behalf of all Slitherbough, I welcome you, Warrior of Darkness!” The gears are turning behind Runar’s eyes, and a light flashes in them. “Ah! I had a splendid idea. We must have the feast I once promised you to celebrate this day! I may finally have you sample my stew!”

“Um…” Sahri’s eyes widen. “That...That is kind of you, Runar, but did we not just…?” 

“Oh, no, do not misunderstand.” Runar shakes his head. “You would be invited to assist in the preparations, of course. The most satisfying part of feasting under the night sky is the knowledge that our collective effort made it possible. And with you among our number, that would become all the more true.”

“Hmmm...Very well, then,” Sahri responds, satisfied. “Unless you would have me water the gardens as before, might I offer my assistance in cooking? I do have some skill, though admittedly, I am less versed on local ingredients…” 

“You enjoy cooking as well?” Runar clasps his hands together, eyes glittering. Again, Sahri can’t help but smile. He and Y’shtola shared that talent, she supposed--though for rather different reasons. “Then yes, by all means, you may assist those preparing our meals! Perhaps another night, once you become more familiar with the Greatwood’s bounty, you may prepare me a stew of your own.”

“Of course. I’d be delighted to.” She hears a contented laugh from behind her--Raha’s laugh.

“It sounds as if you have a busy night ahead of you, O Warrior,” he says when she turns around. “It is a shame we cannot stay for the festivities.”

“You and yours will be leaving before the feast, Exarch?” Runar does not try to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Unfortunately so. The Crystarium can ill afford our absence for long.” He glances in the direction of the row of doors on the village’s east side. “Though, if you do not mind, I would like to appraise Master Matoya of our situation ere we depart. Might you direct me to where she’s staying?”

Runar nods. “Yes, of course. Hers is the abode on the far right end. I’m certain she will be glad to see you.”

“I would not be so certain,” G’raha says with a chuckle. “But thank you. Lyna, might you and your guards stay here by the entrance while we speak?” 

Lyna pauses, but salutes him. “Of course, Exarch.” G’raha walks off, and Sahri is of a mind to follow him before she feels Runar’s hand on her shoulder once again.

“Ah--Actually. Warrior of Darkness? I would like to ask something of you before you go to speak with Master Matoya.” Sahri tilts her head, prompting him to explain. “You see...In your clashes with the Light, I am certain you were exposed to no small amount of it, yes?”

Sahri’s heart stutters to a freezing stop. Oh...Oh, he did not know the half of it. Nervously, she glances at her hand. No...No light. No light… ...Or was there…? In the sun’s glints, did she see...?

“I apologize.” Runar’s voice breaks through Sahri’s quickly derailing mind. She forces herself back to attention. “I cannot begin to imagine the pain you endured on our behalf.” Sahri shakes her head, giving him a sad smile.

“...It’s...It’s alright. That’s what I do.” She can see on his face that she’d only given him more questions, but he presses on with his original line regardless.

“Yes, well...If you are to be staying with us for an extended period, I would like to ask to cleanse you with our priests’ blessed waters once more. That way, we may ensure no excess light yet lingers.”

“Oh...Yes, I remember that.” That was the water imbued with dark aether that had left her and Ryne’s skin tingling. ...Did it really have the power to cleanse light? If there was even a chance…Sahri gives Runar a single, firm nod. “Please. Lead the way.” 

Runar smiles and leads her to one of Slitherbough’s many smaller caves, bringing her before a few jugs of water. The arrangement seemed different from the last time she’d been here. 

“You have much more of this water than you used to,” Sahri remarks. 

“Ah, that is true,” Runar tells her with a nod. “With travel being safer, we realized there would likely be much greater movement of people in and out of the village, which would threaten to strain our old supply. So we started training a new priesthood to make up the gap.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Your talents are that of a mage, yes? Perhaps you could help us produce some.”

“I...have never had much affinity for darkness, I’m afraid,” Sahri admits, embarrassment nibbling at her. She hadn’t thought much of it before, but now...“Perhaps now is as good a time as ever to learn.”

“Our priests may be able to show you the way. Now, we should be on with it. Please kneel before me, Warrior of Darkness.”

Sahri gets on one knee, listening to Runar recite a prayer before he sprinkles the water atop her head. The droplets tingle when they meet her skin, though they have less of a sting than they did before. It was a reminder that the light which bound her soul was no more--only her  _ blessing _ at the whims of Hydaelyn remained. ...Could she trust that, though? An unnatural light still lived inside her, regardless of its source. And...with what intention, exactly…? 

_ “Remember...We, too, have been tempered.” _

Sahri reminds herself to breathe. She focuses instead on her skin’s tingling. The cleansing dark...It was a soothing thought. An image appears in her mind’s eye: water pouring over her, sending all her skin alight with sensation. The sensation...of the removal of light’s stain. Yes...Yes. She could feel these blessed waters washing away the terrible light. Sahri sighs contentedly. As the sensation faded from her body, so too did her worries. She smiles--she felt thoroughly rejuvenated. Darkness’ comforting embrace eased her to an inner peace that had eluded her for ages.

“You seem...relieved, friend,” Runar tells her. Sahri opens her eyes.

“...The light...is a terrifying force, Runar,” she says solemnly. “All-consuming...it ebbs away at your very being. Strips you of who you are.” A smile. “Any protection against that is most reassuring. Thank you for this.” “It is the least we can do,” he reassures. “Light is as much a part of nature as any element, but we all know the horrors of its excesses. That is why the Night’s Blessed’s worship of the dark is so vital.” He smiles, bidding her to stand. “I do not know what terrible acts of the light you witnessed, Warrior of Darkness, but you no longer have anything to fear. The dark, and its servants in Slitherbough, offer you our protection. You are safe from it here, friend.”

“Runar…” Tears stream down Sahri’s face, the girl shuddering with relief. It couldn’t get her here. It couldn’t.  _ She _ couldn’t. She was safe. She was safe...She pulls Runar in for a hug, surprising him, but he somewhat-awkwardly returns it. 

“Runar,” she repeats, pulling away. “I find myself very curious to hear more about the Night’s Blessed’s beliefs. Particularly those of the nature of light and darkness. Do you think you might indulge my questions, later?” 

Runar laughs. “I have already told you much in the way of our faith’s foundation...And I doubt I have much to teach the Warrior of Darkness herself on the way of the world. But questions, I am glad to answer.”

“Thank you. For now, we should return to the others.” Sahri starts to leave, but turns back to Runar with one more smile. “Oh, and Runar?”

“What is it, friend?”

“Please. Call me Sahri.”

For a reason Sahri can’t explain, Runar’s face turns beet red. 

“I...I-I see. Ah...Ahem,” he attempts, clearing his throat. “I will...keep that in mind.” Sahri isn’t quite sure what she did wrong, but she’d rather not make the poor man even more uncomfortable. The two walk back together to Slitherbough’s central green, conversation stilted. Fortunately, they are spared when they see two miqo'te conversing in the open. The Exarch, of course, and…

“Master Matoya!” Sahri reminds herself to say as she hurries to her side. Y’shtola pivots to face her, silver hair billowing with the motion in a way that captivates Sahri. Her eyes narrow with affection, a gesture that the Archon had been directing more and more at Sahri, recently--causing her heart to miss a beat every time. And the smile she offered was kind, gentle, calming...If Sahri was at ease before, she was doubly so now.

“I did not expect to see you again so soon, Sahri,” Y’shtola tells her, “but I’m pleased to be proven wrong. Welcome back.” Sahri beams at her.

“It’s...It’s good to be back,” Sahri says with no small joy in her voice. “I wouldn’t have been able to stay away for long.” 

Y’shtola quirks a teasing eyebrow. “What, from me?” 

Sahri’s cheeks pinken, their color deepening when Y’shtola gives her an affectionate scratch on the head. Sahri can’t resist the temptation to pull the woman into a hug. Y’shtola...Looking back, Sahri was shocked by how quickly the two had grown inseparable. She had reached out her hand to Sahri when no one else would, and Sahri had held to it tightly. Y’shtola...Y’shtola had given her hope, again. Stood beside her, held her through the lowest point of her life. There was so much she needed to tell her...to thank her for...But she knew now was not the time. 

Finally breaking the hug, she catches a glimpse of Y’shtola’s eyes. There was...heavy emotion, behind them. To most, it would likely be too subtle to notice, but Sahri was beginning to get a grasp of how to read her. Had G’raha told her…? Another matter to discuss later--Y’shtola was not one to lay her emotions bare in such a public setting, and in spite of Sahri’s many tears over the past few weeks, neither was she.

“The Exarch tells me you’re to stay here for a time,” Y’shtola remarks, easing the two from their tender moment. Sahri gives her a nod.

“That’s right. Though…” Sahri glances around the village, reminded of the tiny number of indoor dwellings. She had noticed doors in the back of each--likely leading to some sort of sleeping quarters, no doubt. But… “...I’m not quite sure where.”

“Oh, that matter is already settled,” Y’shtola tells her. “Slitherbough has little space to spare, so I offered the Exarch that you share my quarters. The Crystarium guards have already placed your effects inside.”

“You...Truly?” Surprise fills Sahri’s face. She glances to G’raha, who gives her a nod of confirmation--and a sly smile at that. Of course he’d been able to pinpoint her little infatuation.

“Yes, truly,” Y’shtola responds after Sahri fails to speak further. “It is no trouble. I don’t intend to become a recluse as she has.” Sahri knows instantly she’s referring to her own Master Matoya. “In exchange, I fully intend to put your mind to use while you are here. Your sharp wit will no doubt be a boon to furthering my studies of Norvrandt.” And how to return to the Source, no doubt. Sahri gives her a wide smile.

“Perhaps you finally have your opportunity to make me into a scholar. Thank you, Sht--Matoya,” Sahri corrects herself. “You’ve ensured this will be a lovely stay.” She hears Y’shtola hum in contentment. G’raha steps forward, walking up next to Sahri and putting a hand on her back.

“It seems we have matters in hand, then,” he tells her with confidence. “You’ll be well taken care of here. Unfortunately...That would be Lyna and I’s cue to be headed back.” Sahri had known this was coming, but her face falls anyway. 

“R...Right.” She clasps his hand, and tries to give him a smile. “Thank you for this, Raha. You--I already know you had the right of it. This will help me.”

“I pray with all my heart it does.” G’raha strokes her cheek with a gentle touch. She sees tears threatening the corners of his eyes. That was a sure way to have moisture prickle in the corner of her own. “When we next meet, I hope to be able to see you stand tall as the proud woman I know you are.” He leans in to give her a peck on the lips, prompting her tears to fall in earnest. When they pull apart, she sees his have as well.

“Stay safe. Please,” she asks of him. “I will see you again soon, G’raha Tia.” 

“And I you, Sahri Rhoshaan. Take care,” he says, sounding rather choked up. He motions at Lyna and the guards. “Let us be off, then. Oh, and…” He regards Y’shtola and Runar with a warm smile. “Thank you again, friends.” The two give him a nod, and after one last, lingering glance at Sahri, he turns to walk away, not looking back. Sahri watches until he and Lyna disappear from view...but her heart is not heavy. This was not that day at the Crystal Tower. This was not goodbye. 

(Not like it was for  _ him. _ )

Soft fingers wipe away the  ~~ memories ~~ tears from Sahri’s eyes. Y’shtola’s fingers. 

“The Exarch is a much more emotional man than I had first read him,” she remarks, giving a comforting smile. “Or is he only so with you?” Sahri shakes her head, smiling back. 

“Oh, no, he’s always been like this. The man wears his heart on his sleeve. That’s why he needed the hood, no doubt.” 

“Does he, now? He is much the same as our dear Runar, then.” Y’shtola shoots the ronso a teasing glance, and Sahri cannot help but giggle. The first of countless laughs the woman would bring her during her stay, she was sure. Runar rubs the back of his head.

“Ah--Aha,” he laughs somewhat uncomfortably. “It is an honor to be likened to him. If--If you will pardon me, though, I believe I will see to the preparations for our dinner. There is much to be done. Please excuse me. Until later, Master Matoya.” He turns to Sahri and opens his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closes it. He merely gives her a nod before scurrying off. Y’shtola regards the fleeing man with a thoughtful tap to her cheek.

“...He is acting strangely. Did something happen between the two of you?” she asks. Sahri feels a hint of shame.

“Ah...I think I said something to upset him, earlier,” Sahri confesses. Y’shtola raises an eyebrow.

“Oh? And what was that?”

“It was feeling too impersonal to have him refer to me as ‘Warrior of Darkness’ over and over, so I told him he could call me Sahri. He’s seemed uncomfortable ever…” Sahri trails off, the sound of Y’shtola breaking into a chuckle surprising her.

“Oh, Sahri. You know not what you have done.” The amusement does not leave her eyes when she collects herself.

“W-What? What did I do?” Sahri asks, dreading the answer.

“Surely you remember the Blessed’s tradition about names?” Oh no. Sahri was worried that was it.

“Y-Yes, but...I thought it would be alright, since I’m not of the Blessed myself. You’ve been calling me Sahri, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but the Blessed are used to outsiders referring to each other as such. And they know I am a special exception, given my adoption from the outside.” Y’shtola smirks. “You must understand, Sahri. For the Blessed, true names are to be shared with none but family. To ask him to refer to you as such in a private setting…It would have no less weight than a proposal of marriage.”

Sahri’s face flares red. “M...Marriage?!” She buries her face in her hands. “Oh, no wonder he...Does he really think…?”

“No, no. I’m certain he understands your intentions were innocent. He is simply the kind of man to be flustered regardless.” Y’shtola puts a hand on her shoulder. “Do not worry--I will speak with him and resolve things. In the meantime, why don’t you go and arrange your belongings? Once you’re done, I’m certain you can find a way to assist in dinner preparations.”

“Oh, yes...I told Runar I could help with the cooking.”

“The cooking…” Y’shtola smiles with a tap to her cheek. “That’s right. In the recesses of my memory, I do recall a few occasions you and F’lhaminn coordinated meals for the Scions. On the rare chance we all found ourselves in the Rising Stones, of course.” 

She laughs to herself, and Sahri finds it tinted with nostalgia. She’d never have thought Y’shtola the type... But it  _ had _ been ages for the woman since she’d been home. Sahri has the urge to hug her once again, but she restrains herself.

“We’ll have a fine feast, then.” Y’shtola interrupts her own reminiscing. “Ersabel should be able to point you in the right direction to help. Now, if you will excuse me…” She looks in the direction Runar fled. “I believe I have a ronso to mollify.”

Sahri giggles. “Good luck with that. See you at dinner, then…” She glances around and sees no one in earshot. “...Shtola.”

With a wave, the women go their separate ways. In truth, it did not take long for Sahri to ruffle through her items--she had not packed much besides delicates and a few lightweight crafting tools. The heaviest load had come from the books G’raha lent her to continue her study of Voeburt. They would be at home among the countless tomes strewn about Y’shtola’s hideaway. Sahri realizes she’s never taken the time to appreciate the space. Her mind was...rather occupied elsewhere on the occasions she’d poked her head in. 

“ _ This was where you learned what the light was making of you, after all.” _

Sahri shakes her head. Slitherbough would offer sanctuary from  _ his _ voice, as well--she would make it so. 

Taking a look around, it was a comfortable dwelling. Lived-in. She spotted a few books still laying open on one of...actually, no, on both of the tables. Presumably Y’shtola had been too deep in research to consider entertaining guests. The cave’s natural darkness was offset by the same faint blue glow that filled all Slitherbough’s caves. The light of the moon...She had half a mind to sit down and slip into its serenity. But, no. There were festivities to be had--in her honor, no less--and this time, she would not miss them.

After meeting up with Ersabel, the woman directs her towards a pair of women already set up around a fire. Both seemed...rather astonished by the idea of the Warrior of Darkness herself assisting them with their cooking, but they were clearly grateful nonetheless. Sahri took to following their lead, and she quickly discovered local ingredients were not nearly so different from the Twelveswood’s as she might have expected. She was even able to show the other two a method to further develop the flavor of the meat with minimal extra effort--earning expressions of awe from them both. Sahri soon found herself swept into the familiar rhythm of handling ingredients, and the hours whittled away in the blink of an eye--day giving way to the peaceful night.

It was quickly apparent that the Blessed’s conception of a feast was a far cry from the grand banquet the word had brought to mind. Though perhaps she shouldn’t have expected an indulgence in extravagance from the Night’s Blessed--they were ever a people to live within their means, a virtue ingrained in them by necessity. Instead, there were fires burning throughout the central green, each surrounded by a ring of people engaged in lively conversation with each other. To the Blessed, a feast seemed a large communal gathering where people shared their favorite dishes--a focus on quality and warm memories over quantity. The hum of the crowd did not stir disquiet in Sahri as the Musica Universalis markets had. Perhaps it was the smaller quantity of people. Or, perhaps, it was the fact that here, she was not a spectacle. She was accepted as one among them, part of Slitherbough’s unified, beating heart. Either way, her own heart was at home.

When the women had finished their dish, Sahri looked through the crowd and found Y’shtola--part of the congregation sitting around Runar’s cooking pot. Seeing Sahri’s approach, Y’shtola patted the spot next to her, and she gladly took it.

“No problems settling yourself in?” she asks.

“No. None. Thank you again, Matoya,” Sahri tells her with a smile. 

“I already told you--it’s no trouble, moonbeam.” The whispered nickname sends heat rushing to Sahri’s cheeks, only amplified when she feels a warm hand covertly slide atop hers. Y’shtola wears an expression some might see as smug, but Sahri recognizes as simple contentment. Before she can say anything, a booming voice cuts into Sahri’s mind. 

“Oh, Warrior of Darkness! You’ve come at the perfect time!” Apparently whatever intervention Y’shtola had with Runar had worked, because he was back to his old, excitable self. He holds out a bowl to her, which Sahri has to slip her hand from under Y’shtola’s to accept.

“I’ve finished preparing my stew,” he tells her with no small amount of pride, “and there will be no Eulmoran interruptions this time! Please, try it--I must know what you think.”

Sahri takes a whiff. Oh...An utterly delectable collection of vegetables and spices. Wasting no time, she brings the spoon to her mouth, and is wracked by pangs of nostalgia.

“Ah...This tastes just like a stew my mother would make me when I was small,” she tells him, heart warming alongside her stomach. She gives Runar a thankful smile. “I adore it, Runar. Thank you.” She immediately wolfs down a few more spoonfuls. 

“Such high praise...You honor me, truly!” Runar clasps his hands together, beside himself with glee. It takes a few moments for him to register Y’shtola’s laugh.

“Be careful, Runar,” she warns him. “I hope you prepared more than usual, because when this one starts eating, you’ll be hard-pressed to get her to stop.” She gestures towards Sahri’s bowl, and Runar staggers back when he finds it almost empty. 

“Al...Already?” he asks in horror.

“It’s really good!” Sahri tells him cheerfully after slurping down the last of its contents. She politely wipes the mess from her upper lip. “Could I have some more?”

Y’shtola laughs again, and Runar scrambles to pour her another helping. Eventually, everyone gets their meal, and the village falls into a low but sustained murmur of eating and warm conversation between friends and family. The sound eased Sahri’s weary soul, and she happily joined in the chattering with Runar, Y’shtola, and the others around them. As meals were finished, the volume gradually ramped up again, and there was more movement between groups. A few villagers stopped by Sahri to thank her for the meal she helped prepare, even offering a sample--of which she gladly partook, to Runar’s profound relief. 

The beating of drums cuts through the roar of voices--apparently some of the Blessed had pulled out instruments after eating. Several women offer their voices as chorus, and together they perform what was no doubt traditional music of their people. The closest comparison Sahri could draw was some of the tribal music of the Azim Steppe, but even then the Blessed’s had a distinct, beautiful quality that made her heart stir with an emotion she could not pinpoint. A sizable amount of the villagers begin to dance before the musicians--nothing coordinated, more like what Sahri might describe as an open dance floor. Y’shtola catches onto the focus of her attention, soon teasingly urging her to join in the festivities. Her call bolstered by Runar, Sahri had little choice but to stand and strut towards the crowd. 

Many eyes turned towards her as she walked forward--including those of children, she noted. She would have to be conscious to keep this tamer than the  _ dance _ she gave on stage in Eulmore. So instead, she does her best to mimic the movements of those around her, allowing her body to flow naturally to the rhythm. She felt no pressure upon herself to dance “well,” only express the energy pulsing through her. She moves with, from, between the others dancing with her, and the sense of unity is exhilarating. It took a powerful bond to keep a community together through nearly one hundred years of adversity, and Sahri felt privileged to be privy to this small insight on how it was maintained. 

Time passes, energy levels fall--including Sahri’s own--and the dancers make their way back to their seats. The hour grew late, and it was clear the crowd would dissipate before long. 

“You enjoyed yourself, I hope?” Y’shtola asks as Sahri returns. 

“Yes...That was wonderful,” Sahri tells her. “I really wore myself out...” Some energy jolts out of her when Runar’s hand claps her back. 

“If only you could have seen her dance, Master Matoya!” Perhaps Runar could have afforded to expend some energy dancing himself. “The Warrior of Darkness is a lively soul, indeed!”

“You shall have to regale me with all you saw come the morn, then, Runar.” She regards Sahri with a smile, and Sahri smiles back.

“The...morn?” Runar asks, confusion prompting him to take a look around the scene. “Ah...It seems most are ready to retire for the night. Master Matoya, might I say a few words before we disperse?”

She nods. “Please, feel free.”

The ronso turns to face the rest of the villagers, wearing a grin. 

“Friends! People of the Night’s Blessed!” His booming voice immediately puts an end to any lingering conversation, drawing all attention his way. 

“I am certain every soul present knows why we’ve gathered to celebrate tonight. We all celebrated the return of Norvrandt’s night with our friends in the Crystarium, but tonight, we gave it a welcome as only Slitherbough could. With the esteemed presence of the woman who made it possible, no less! Please, let us all thank her one more time.” 

Runar bids Sahri to stand beside him, and she is greeted by a spirited assortment of applause, cheers and prayer. She looks to the eyes of those who applaud her, who sing her praises, and she sees genuine gratitude in every one. Yet even with so many voices joined in unison, the scene is still personal, still intimate, and unlike in celebrations of the hundreds or thousands, Sahri feels a connection with each. She was being praised as a hero, yes, but as a hero coming home to rest. Deep emotion wells up within her. The Warrior of Darkness...Of the night, of peaceful slumber. She had protected them from the light, and now, they would do the same for her, wrapping her in night’s embrace. A smile was the most coherent response she could muster. The only one capable of expressing the medley of emotion within her. When the cheering dies down, Runar resumes. 

“After her long fight, our Warrior seeks a reprieve, and of all the places she could have chosen, she sought us here in Slitherbough. I know every one of us feels the magnitude of that honor. Surely, however long she may stay with us, we must endeavor to accept her into our fold as we did Master Matoya before her.”

A murmur of agreement. Runar’s face is bright. He turns towards Sahri. 

“Warrior of Darkness--Slitherbough thanks you, welcomes you with every ounce of our being. And there is one thing I am certain we are all eager to know.”

Sahri tilts her head in confusion. 

“Warrior of Darkness, please tell us. What is your name?”

Her eyes blow wide open. Her...Her name? Her name...Her name was...was…..

“Of course, we are all well aware of your name of the light,” Runar clarifies, breaking her stupor. “It would be difficult not to, with how often it was spoken in the Crystarium’s festivities. And it is a name that will find its way into many an account of Norvrandt’s history. Of that, there is no doubt.”

“However,” he continues, “in our traditions, in our remembrance, the Night’s Blessed would guard your name from the light. Instead, we would wish to honor you with a name of the dark--one worthy of the sunless sea you have gifted us.” His smile quirks to a slight smirk. “Additionally, lacking such a name would quickly become a rather large practical concern while living among us.” Ah...So this had been the resolution he and Y’shtola had reached, earlier. She...She saw no problem with it, certainly…

“Of course. I would be glad to honor your traditions.” Hmm...But a name...what name? “...Typically, you take the name of a parent, correct?” she asks. 

“That’s correct,” Runar responds. “It is heartening to know how much our way of life has stuck with you.” 

The name of a parent...She only had one choice then, didn’t she?

“...Lukah.” She smiles at her own mention of her mother’s name. “Please, Runar, all of you...Call me Lukah.” Runar’s beaming face is near blinding. 

“Lukah...A beautiful name, indeed. Slitherbough, let us welcome this woman once more as Lady Lukah! Lady Lukah, the Warrior of Darkness, bringer of the sunless sea!”

Before she can object to the “lady,” Slitherbough erupts into cheers once more. Between the applause, a name rises from the villagers’ voices. Lady Lukah, they cheered. Lady Lukah of the Sunless Sea! 

Something slots into place in Sahri’s mind. That...That was her. Her, who they cried for in admiration, in love. Her mother’s name, and now hers. Lukah. Her very own name of the dark. A name which protected her from the searing light. A name which made her part of this community, once and for all. This time, she cannot hold back her tears. She clutches her heart, smiling widely.

“Thank...thank you…” she gasps to herself, lost in the noise of celebration. “Thank you…!”

She feels an arm on her back. This time, it’s not Runar’s. 

“It is enough to pierce the coldest heart, is it not?” Y’shtola asks with no shortage of sympathy. “The depth of their devotion...Of their love...The Night’s Blessed are a people like none I’ve ever known.” 

“Yes…” Sahri says, breathy. “Yes, they are special indeed. I’ve not stayed here more than a few days total, but already I feel at home. Like part of a family.” 

“It was the same for me, once I earned their trust.” Y’shtola pets her, and Sahri feels her ears twitch. “It is impossible to place your heart in contact with theirs and not emerge a changed woman. A change for the better, I have found.” The woman’s eyes narrow with affection, and Sahri cannot look away from them.

“Now that you are one of them--one of us--you will ever be. Welcome home, Lukah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Y'shtola appears in what is mainly supposed to be a Y'shtola/WoL fic!


	7. Moon's Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three simple words open a new world of possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the entire reason I started writing this fic, believe it or not--It's a long one!

Following the end of the feast, Sahri opted to wash herself from her long days of travel--wiping away the sweat and grime and letting her start here be fresh. Much to her relief, Y’shtola had insisted on keeping her company, and the two shared many a conversation while the newest member of the Blessed bathed. The state of the Source, the Scions’ current movements, new insights Y’shtola had gleaned into Ronkan civilization in cooperation with Fanow...The topics could have been anything, truly. It was the sound of Y’shtola’s voice that delivered Sahri from painful solitude and eased the exhaustion she felt from her journey and the festivities both. 

Afterwards, the two returned to Y’shotla’s abode, the door at the back indeed leading to a humble sleeping quarters. The sheets on the bed--the one, singular bed, Sahri noted--were unmade, and even more books were stashed about the corners. She spotted a few journals laying next to a fountain of ink. This was a very private space, Sahri sensed, and the fact she was being let into it at all was a sign of immense trust. The room did not even have any lighting, as Y’shtola would not normally need it, but the woman thoughtfully took a few blue candles from the main room to place in a nook on the wall. 

“It is...not the most organized space, I admit,” Y’shtola starts. Was that the slightest hint of self-consciousness in her voice? Sahri found it adorable. “But I’m certain you’ve slept in far worse. It should suffice for your purposes.” 

“It’s cozy,” Sahri reassures her with a sweet smile. “And a view into a part of you I suspect precious few have seen.” Y’shtola smiles right back at her, full of affection. 

“You would be correct in that.” Y’shtola moves to shut the door...but doesn’t step away from it. Instead, she leans back against it, eyes directed at the floor. The smile on her face slips into something more solemn. Sahri’s heart sinks. 

“Sahri, there is...an important matter I would like to discuss with you.” Ah...She supposed it was only a matter of time before conversation turned serious, given what weighed on both their hearts. No doubt Y’shtola had been waiting for a moment of complete privacy. Truthfully...So had Sahri.

“Yes...There is much on my mind, as well,” Sahri admits. “Please--talk to me.” Y’shtola nods and meets her gaze.

“...First was Yda. Then, Louisoux. Moenbryda. Papalymo. Minfilia.” Y’shtola’s voice carries the tone of a funeral procession. “Not to mention the many Night’s Blessed you never had the privilege to know. Comrades, mentors, friends...One by one, their voices have fallen silent. Their life snuffed out, ne’er to return to what they once were. Of course, we all knew our path was a dangerous one--each made their own choice. And you yourself have lost no fewer--some losses we’ve shared. Yet each refuses to leave my mind...Each death stays with me, weight around my heart I must move forward in spite of.”

“...For those we have lost...For those we can yet save,” Sahri says. She clutches her chest. Oh, she knew this pain all too acutely. 

_ “Fate can be cruel, but a smile better suits a hero.” _

(She can see Haurchefant’s face, but it is not his voice. Again,  _ he _ mocks her for her loss.)

Sahri shakes the thought away. It was not a surprise Y’shtola bore this pain, but to hear her admit it so plainly...

“Yes...You understand as well,” Y’shtola continues. There is the slightest tremble in her voice, but her gaze remains steely. 

“Sahri…” She takes a breath. “In the Tempest, I’d resigned myself to counting your name among theirs.” Sahri bites her lip, hard enough that she starts to taste blood.

“I…” Sahri’s breathing slips out of rhythm. Oh, she remembered the dread on Y’shtola’s face, the tears she refused to let fall in the moment they shared before facing Amaurot’s doom. 

“I could no longer see you, behind the pall of the light’s corruption,” Y’shtola continues, grave. “Your soul had such an abundance of fractures that it seemed even the slightest jostle would cause it to fall apart.”

Oh, how right she was. From the time she took the last light into her body, every waking moment was a fight to keep her humanity intact--one more minute, one more hour, she had to see her task through. And the pain...oh, the pain. She was afflicted bodily, yes, but the pain of a dying soul--she could never find words fit to describe the horror. Even with every ounce of her willpower, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Losing against...the light. The light,  _ her _ light…!

“Forgive me, moonbeam.” Y’shtola’s hands on her face draw Sahri back to the present. She becomes lost in the moons of Y’shtola’s eyes. Yes...yes. Here, the dark protected her, she reminded herself. The night forbade her transformation. “It was not my intention to send you to tears. I cannot begin to imagine how...raw, the experience must still be for you.”

“...I’d never been so terrified,” Sahri admits. “Not only to lose myself, but to hurt the ones I loved…”

“And yet, you survived,” Y’shtola reminds her. “The mechanism of how yet eludes my full understanding, but survive you did. Your conviction carried the day. I would call it a miracle if I believed in such things. I can see you for who you are once more--bearer of a fully healed soul.”

“...Are...Are you certain you can?” Sahri asks with apprehension. She knew Y’shtola would not lie to her, but…

“Yes. Yes, without a doubt.” Y’shtola’s thumbs rub circles on her cheeks, utterly soothing… “Before me is the same beautiful sight I beheld when I first looked upon you with these eyes. Ryne’s soul shimmers with youth, while yours is subtler, more subdued...But their color is much the same. The most brilliant gold.” 

“Shtola…” There was so much Sahri wanted to tell her in that moment. Of the beautiful, calming color of her own soul. Of the fact she would likely not even be standing here right now if not for Y’shtola’s care, her honesty, her courage. Of how the light still hounded her every thought, of how  _ he _ had infected every crack of her soul, of her memory in Amaurot’s flames...Of how part of her yearned to never return to the Source, to stay here in Slitherbough as Lukah and Matoya… 

“I love you,” she says instead. 

Immediately, lips clash against hers--shockingly soft lips, yet fierce in their use. Sahri lets out a small noise of surprise, but wastes no time in leaning back in. Oh, oh, she hadn’t been wrong about what was building between her and Y’shtola. The feelings had caught her so thoroughly off-guard with how quickly they came--though she supposed years of friendship provided a simple enough base from such love to spring. Still, this love was not ancient, not even the product of years of pining, but something altogether, thrillingly new--new in a way love had not been for her in a long while. Pour herself into this newness, leave her past in the shadow--that’s what she craved, why she moaned when she first tasted Y’shtola’s tongue, why she allowed the woman to push her back unto her bed, to climb atop her. Their kiss broke not long after they assumed this position, both needing a moment to catch their breath.

“I know,” Y’shtola begins between breaths. “I know, moonbeam. I know you do. You can be subtle in many emotions, but not in love. Never in love.” She leans in close to Sahri’s face. “And I...I feel much the same as you. I love you, that is to say.” A smile rises to Sahri’s face, unbidden, and Y’shtola’s own grin in the dim blue light is stunningly gorgeous.

“You’ve saved me some trouble. That was what I needed to tell you, in fact,” she continues. “What I realized when Thancred carried your unconscious form from the Crown of the Immaculate. When I watched your tortured rest in the Pendants, afterwards.” Y’shtola had been…? The thought sends even more warmth flooding through Sahri’s body. 

“By then, I thought my realization had come too late. That the first powerful love I had felt in years would forever remain unbloomed.” Y’shtola shakes her head, still smiling. “And once I had accepted my lot in such a timeworn tragic love story, you had the audacity to keep on living. To defy your supposed fate, as you manage to again and again. Really, I do not know what I was thinking.

Sahri giggles, heart bursting with joy. “What can I say? I’m quite stubborn.” 

Y’shtola’s eyes narrow. “Oh, I know you are,” she says in a tone that makes Sahri shudder. “Just as you stubbornly avoided the festivities once we returned to the Crystarium.” Her finger slowly drags down Sahri’s cheek. “I hope you know--in all my relief, had I seen you there...I fully intended to pull you aside and  _ make my feelings clear _ .” Fuck, that was...she’d seen Y’shtola heated before, but this…

“...I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Sahri tells her, unable to turn away from her eyes. “All of that attention directed at me...would have been too much. I needed time to clear my head.”

“Of course.” Y’shtola’s eyes are sympathetic. “Now that you have a moment to rest, looking after your wellbeing is vital. Which is why I am thankful you heeded the Exarch’s advice and followed your heart to Slitherbough.” Ah...So Raha had told her. “I cannot claim to know the extent of what you are facing, but…” She presses a kiss to Sahri’s forehead. “I will see that you are taken care of, here, Sahri.” A smirk. “Or...should I say Lukah?” 

Oh...Sahri adored how the name rolled off Y’shtola’s tongue. Her tongue...Sahri brings her own to meet it once more. Y’shtola laughs into their kiss, and holds a firm hand to the back of Sahri’s head as she leans the woman into it. Y’shtola was no less of a force of will in bed as she was outside of it, claiming her mouth possessively--nibbling around Sahri’s lips, even catching her tongue between her teeth a few times in a way that made Sahri groan. The Archon was laying claim to her, to her love, taking it as her own--and Sahri was thrilled to comply, heat beginning to pool in her core. 

“I…” Y’shtola gasps, pulling away from the kiss. “I am beyond grateful that we will have this period of peace together. I will not waste this opportunity.”

“To make me your full-time student?” Sahri quips. Y’shtola shakes her head.

“No.” Her voice grows low. “To have my fill of you, pretty little Lukah.”

Every nerve in Sahri’s body flares alight at that. “P...p-please,” she gasps. She may have a strong will, but she was ever quick to crumple under such heat. And Y’shtola’s...it was some of the most smoldering she’s ever known. “Take what you want from me, Shtola.” She pauses. “...Toya.” Y’shtola’s cheeks darken.

“That...may take some getting used to,” she admits. “But if you’re so eager for me to get my hands on you...Do me a favor and strip, moonbeam.”

Sahri doesn’t need to be told twice. She quickly throws off the light nightdress she’d been wearing, followed by her undergarments, before laying herself back out again for Y’shtola. She knew Y’shtola couldn’t see her nudity, per se, but she felt the heat of her eyes just as strongly.

“How’s that?” she asks, biting her lip to accentuate the effect. She shudders when Y’shtola runs her hands down her body to confirm. Or...simply to tease?

“I’m not certain if I should be surprised at your easy compliance,” Y’shtola remarks with a smirk. “Flattered, perhaps. ...Though, moonbeam.” The heat in her voice dials back just a notch, to something more sentimental. “There is something I would ask of you.” Sahri’s eyes go wide, and she takes Y’shtola’s hand in hers.

“Anything, Shtola. What is it?” She receives a wistful smile in response. 

“...The image of you in my mind is faint,” she confesses. “Been overtaken by a haze, as one year without sight bleeds into the next. Perhaps I could let it go if I’d never known traditional sight. But I did. If...If I am to love you properly, I would like to rebuild that image of you in my mind’s eye. Will you let me?”

That was...such a sweet, earnest request that it almost brought Sahri to tears all on its own. As enjoyable as it was to see Y’shtola’s heat, knowing her mind--her vulnerabilities, her regrets--was the highest intimacy Sahri could ask for. She brings Y’shtola’s hands to rest on her chest.

“Of course...Of course.” She gives the woman a wide smile. “Feel me all you wish. I would be glad to fill in any detail you may want.”

“Thank you. That...means more than you may know.” There is a swell of emotion in Y’shtola’s voice. Sahri rubs her thumb soothingly across the back of her hand, earning a smile.

Y’shtola’s hands are slow, surprisingly delicate in their exploration. Her first destination is Sahri’s face--Sahri closes her eyes to allow Y’shtola to feel the rise of her forehead, the shape of her eyes. She traces every contour of Sahri’s cheek, her jaw, her nose...Sahri feels a delightful tingling when Y’shtola’s finger carefully follows the length of her upper lip, then her lower. (Idly, Sahri realizes it must have been with this intention Y’shtola was so insistent on tracing her fangs, her teeth with her tongue while they kissed.) When she is done mapping Sahri’s face, her thumbs rest at the corner of Sahri’s eyes. Sahri opens them and can see Y’shtola looks pensive.

“...Remind me,” she asks with no small shame in her voice, “what color were your eyes? My memory is playing tricks on me.” Sahri rests her hand on Y’shtola’s, quietly reassuring her it is alright.

“They’re green,” Sahri tells her. “A deep green. Think of it...hmm.” She tries to find a comparison. “Think of it like jade.” Y’shtola’s face lights up at that.

“Jade? Toddia would have been delighted.” Her smile burns warm. “Yes...green. That’s right. I can see them, now.” Sahri recognizes the gratitude in her voice. Y’shtola’s hands move upward, running her fingers through Sahri’s hair. “Your hair, I do remember. The palest blue, bordering on silver, graced with black tips.” Sahri purrs in contentment at the pleasant feeling, the sound growing sharper when Y’shtola begins to feel out the shape of her ears. She does the best to stay their twitching, but is only so successful. 

“I know, I know,” Y’shtola laughs. “Truly, her ears are a miqo’te’s bane. Even if the world’s other races find them so endearing…” She gives the furless inside of her ears a few rubs, and Sahri’s face heats at the sensitivity. “...There. That should do. Thank you for bearing with me.” Y’shtola’s hands set back to roaming her hair, and Y’shtola seems surprised when they bump into Sahri’s side buns. She holds them in her hands, and amusement colors her face.

“You...still wear your hair like this?” Sahri is aghast. 

“What...What do you mean, ‘still’?” she pouts. “Do you not like it?” That prompts a hearty chuckle.

“No, no, it suits you. I’m simply surprised--it’s been many a year. I have certainly changed mine in that time. You are a woman of strong habit.” Unconvinced by her defense, Sahri gives a harumph. Her indignation is quickly forgotten, however, when she is struck by the feeling of Y’shtola’s fingers delicately traveling down her spine, vertebrae by vertebrae.

“A-Ah…” is all Sahri can manage at the strange feeling.

“Lean forward for me, won’t you?” Y’shtola asks her. Sahri does so, bending over and resting her head in Y’shtola’s lap to give her full access. Ah...now that was a pleasantly soft feeling. She wanted to feel more of this...But, that would be later. For now, she relaxes as Y’shtola’s hands feel down the left and right sides of her back, over her shoulder blades and stopping just before her rear, before continuing the journey down her spine. Certainly, the sensation was bizarre, flew in the face of her instincts--but resisting that for Y’shtola’s sake was a vulnerability she cherished. That is, until Y’shtola reached the point her vertebrae turned into her tail. Sahri tenses and barely restrains a hiss. 

“My sympathies. I can skip this part if you’d like, moonbeam,” Y’shtola offers in concession, but Sahri sighs and shakes her head.

“No, no. You can go ahead. I trust you. Just...be careful, and forgive me if I make any strange sounds,” she pleas. Pleading turns to purring when Y’shtola pets her. 

“Thank you. I will be quick.”

True to her word, she is delicate yet efficient when she feels the length of Sahri’s tail. Every part of her body objects to this touch, but she wills them to silence--this was for Y’shtola’s sake. Mercifully, she is soon done touching the tail itself, and finishes by feeling the rather long and fluffy fur which extends from it. Sahri breathes a sigh of relief. 

“I am not certain I would be able to accomplish such restraint,” Y’shtola tells her, sounding impressed. “Of all your virtues, your patience may be your greatest.” 

Sahri laughs. “Forget her ears...Her tail is a miqo’te’s  _ true _ bane.”

“You may be right.” Y’shtola smiles down at her. “Thankfully, you should find the remainder of this task far more pleasing. For example…” Sahri is ashamed by the noise of surprise she makes when Y’shtola’s hands move to cup her ass.

“Oh? You like that, moonbeam?” Y’shtola teases smugly. Any response from Sahri is cut off by the woman giving her a firm squeeze. “You do...I will have to keep that in mind.” She feels out the curve of her ass and the back of her thighs, and Sahri whines when they spend a few moments tracing inner, more sensitive skin. Y’shtola gives her cheeks a small pat before pulling her hands back.

“You can sit up, now.” Sahri does, and finds Y’shtola grinning. “For a woman usually so quiet, you can be shockingly noisy under the right circumstances.” Sahri’s face heats--she  _ could _ act rather differently in public and private settings. “I would like to imagine your cheeks are a deep shade of red at the moment. Am I correct?”

“You…!” Sahri giggles in spite of herself. “You are. As you have a frustrating habit of being.” All of Sahri’s breath is stolen away when Y’shtola leans in close to her face and whispers.

“Few things in this world delight me more than the sound of your laugh, Sahri. It is how I know you are smiling.” Her voice is achingly tender. 

“Shtola…” Sahri tries to find words through her smile. “Well, you...You are more talented at drawing laughter from me than most anyone I’ve known.” The admission sends her face to startling temperatures, but she cannot find it in herself to care. “That’s been true for years--long before I fell in love with you.” Y’shtola’s eyes affectionately narrow in that way which always sends her heart racing.

“It seems we fit together well, then,” Y’shtola tells her before leaning in for another kiss. Rather than hungry, this one is sweet--not the product of pent-up yearning, but simple affection built up in the moment. Sahri cherishes it all the same.

“Forgive my distraction,” Y’shtola says as their lips separate. “I could not let the moment pass without saying such. Where were we, then?”

Sahri smirks. “I believe you’d just finished thoroughly inspecting my backside.” The sound of Y’shtola’s laugh is precious to her, as well, Sahri thinks.

After briefly feeling down her neck, Y’shtola charts Sahri’s clavicle, her shoulders. She holds each arm in two hands--one atop, one underneath, and feels down the sides in tandem. Ah...this  _ was _ much more pleasant. It was a simple joy, Y’shtola’s skin against hers, but difficult to overstate the magnitude of. She similarly uses both hands to feel Sahri’s own--traveling the rise of her knuckles and the shape of her fingers. She even takes the time to memorize the lines on Sahri’s palms--ending the twin explorations with a kiss apiece. Her next course is back up the length of Sahri’s arms to her sides, feeling the form of her silhouette--ending on her hips. Y’shtola smiles to herself. 

“It is easy to forget, given the towering deeds to your name, that your stature falls short of even mine,” she muses. “How do you endure all the violence you are subjected to in such a small frame?” 

“I wonder that myself, sometimes,” Sahri tells her with a smirk. “It’s why I’m a mage instead of lugging around a hulking axe, I suppose.” 

“You say that,” Y’shtola huffs, “but why do I imagine you could make such a weapon work for you, regardless?” Y’shtola shakes her head, tickled, and moves her hands back upwards--this time, to cup Sahri’s breasts. Sahri lets out a little whine, and Y’shtola chuckles. “So very eager.” 

Y’shtola rotates her hands around the circumference of Sahri’s breasts, and then slides them over the front--no doubt trying to determine their size. Sahri cannot help but feel self-conscious, but if Y’shtola is displeased, she does nothing to show it. With a satisfied hum, she draws a few circles on Sahri’s areolas, giving her nipples a little squeeze. However genuine the intention behind this little exploration, it seemed Y’shtola would not pass over the opportunity to tease. 

Her expression grows graver, however, when she finds the start of a scar near the top of Sahri’s left breast. Ah...Yes. The near-death experience they had shared. Her hands feel down Sahri’s torso, one finger trailing along the length of the first scar til it ends at the side of her stomach. She then finds the second scar, a much more horizontal angle starting where the first scar ends and crossing the length of her abdomen to its other side. 

“...These are still deep,” Y’shtola comments, breaking the heavy silence between them. “Truly, it is humbling to recall how easily our journeys could have ended that night in Rhalgr’s Reach.” Sahri recalls Y’shtola’s body laying limp on the ground, blood dripping from her mouth, open wound gaping across her body...Krile’s frantic attempts to save her.

“...I was certain we had lost you,” Sahri confesses. “In my rage, the thought did not even occur to me that Zenos might be my superior in combat. Not until I was laying in a bloody heap on the ground, myself.” She can still remember Krile, Lyse, Rauhbaun’s voices yelling her name in a discordant melody as her consciousness faded. “He could have finished me, then and there, if he’d so desired. I suppose I’m fortunate that I caught his interest.” Y’shtola’s hand finds hers, tangling their fingers together.

“I...had not realized how my injuries contributed to the situation.” There is no guilt in Y’shtola’s voice, to Sahri’s relief--only rumination. “The number of times we have escaped our deaths by only the barest of margins is staggering.” 

“It is. We are both far too reckless for our own good.” Sahri smiles. “Another reason we make a fitting pair?” 

Y’shtola smiles back, fondly. “Indeed...And we must strive to make the most of our borrowed time.” She leans forward and surprises Sahri with a kiss. Sahri’s lips in such close proximity proved too potent a distraction for Y’shtola. ...More than one pair of lips, Sahri quickly realizes with a startled moan when Y’shtola’s fingers trace her slit.

“Sh...Shtola?” Sahri asks with confusion. 

“I did tell you I did not possess your patience, moonbeam.” Y’shtola smirks. “Call me impulsive, if you wish.” Two fingers push between Sahri’s folds with ease--Sahri gasps. “Though it seems to me you are more than ready...To think that simple touch could summon such need from you.” 

“B-Because it’s you,” Sahri gasps as Y’shtola’s thumb finds her clit. “It’s because it's your hands, your fingers, Shtola…” By the Twelve, did she want to surrender herself to this woman’s love. Lose herself in the woman who she knows, no matter how the world turns against her, she can trust to tell truth and speak her heart. The thought that love for her burned in that heart was nothing short of overwhelming.

“Good.” Y’shtola presses their foreheads together, gazing unflinchingly towards Sahri’s eyes. “Because I intend to become…” she curls her fingers, and Sahri gasps once more. “... _ Thoroughly _ acquainted with this part of you, in particular, sweet Lukah.”

Y’shtola sets her fingers into motion, thrusting into Sahri and rubbing circles around her clit. It is a gratifying sensation, to be sure, one amplified when Y’shtola slips a third finger inside of her. Yet through her moans of pleasure, it is Y’shtola’s eyes that Sahri finds her focus on. Y’shtola is teaching her what love looks like on them, and it is an enthralling sight. The Archon...she was not like her, Sahri realized. Sahri often found herself falling in love more easily than she cared to admit--with how many hearts had come into contact with her own, an abundance of loves burned deep. Thancred, Lyse, and Aymeric to name a few…( _ Haurchefant, Ysayle, Minfilia… _ ) None of these were shallow, but it could be difficult to maintain a steady stream of devotion to them all with each so far flung. 

Y’shtola was different. Y’shtola did not trip over herself into love as she did. No, it must be something rare, for her to fall for someone. And when she did...Well. It was monumental. She did not take half-measures in her devotion, as Sahri had felt through her attentive care and comfort. As she felt now, wandering through the lunar landscape of her eyes as the woman’s fingers worked ceaselessly to bring her to climax. She had no expectations for Sahri, she knew--only intentions. If she was to love Sahri, she intended to do so with her whole heart--that’s what she was conveying to her, in this moment. Not that she would suddenly become a saccharine romantic, of course--but she would strive to keep Sahri close. Sahri’s heart aches at the realization of how badly she wants that. A partner bound to no nation, no extended espionage missions, no secret-keeping--A partner who could and would follow her to the ends of existence if she only asked. 

“Shtola?” Sahri manages between breaths.

“Yes, moonbeam?” Ready to answer her call.

“...Stay with me.” A simple request, but one with a world of gravity behind it. Sahri can see the smile in Y’shtola’s eyes.

“It would be my greatest joy.”

Sahri comes quietly, cloaked in an aura of peace. Y’shtola does not break eye contact until she has finished. In the haze of Sahri’s afterglow, she does notice the woman withdrawing her fingers, feeling down the length of her legs and feet. Sahri smiles to herself. Never one to leave a task undone. When Sahri gathers herself, she sits up and finds Y’shtola grinning at her.

“There were many approaches I thought to take,” Y’shtola tells her, “but simplicity seemed to best fit the mood. Hopefully you enjoyed yourself, regardless.” 

Sahri takes her hand. “I did. It was wonderful. Thank you.” She pauses. “...It’s been  _ far _ too long since I’ve lain with another woman.” Y’shtola’s grin widens.

“Now  _ that _ is high praise, indeed.” Her voice is smug, with no shortage of pride. “Not enough pleasure between Thancred and the Exarch both?”

_ And Hades _ , Sahri’s mind adds, but she does not put to words. 

“It’s...not as if I’m unsatisfied,” Sahri tries to explain. “Intimacy with men and women...They have different qualities to them, each of which I crave.” 

“I shall take your word for it,” Y’shtola says with a shrug. “Regardless, I am quite satisfied. Shall we retire for the night?” Sahri can tell from the look on Y’shtola’s face that she is not being serious, but it remains difficult to suppress a whine.

“You seem to forget I haven’t had the chance to see you yet, Shtola.” 

“See me?” Oh, what a tease. “Have you not already borne witness to my bare form?” Ah...The Twelveswood. Sahri’s face heats at the memory--though moreso at remembering Alphinaud stood beside her. She shakes it off.

“You know that’s different.” Sahri scoots forward to close the gap between them, a playful smile on her face. “And it did not come with the opportunity to touch.” The open back on Y’shtola’s dress had occupied Sahri’s mind more times than she’d care to admit. Y’shtola taps her cheek, feigning thoughtfulness. 

“Perhaps you may be able to persuade me, then.” Before Sahri can ask how, Y’shtola leans back and hikes up her dress--unceremoniously pulling down her panties and tights to reveal glistening folds under a tuft of silver. She gestures a hand between them. 

“Well?”

This was a price of admission Sahri would gladly pay. She dives forward and kisses her way up Y’shtola’s bare legs, relishing the feeling of rubbing her cheek against the soft skin. Technically, Sahri broke Y’shtola’s rule by placing her hands on her legs as well, but it was an enjoyable part of the game to which Y’shtola did not object. She makes her way to the legs’ junction, lips inches from wet, sticky heat. For all her teasing, Y’shtola was no less ready than she had been. Sahri closes her eyes and inhales deeply--she wants to commit Y’shtola’s smell to her memory. She feels Y’shtola’s hand on the top of her head, petting her--Sahri looks up to see a smile. She decides to direct her purring into Y’shtola’s folds, earning immediate delight.

“Ah…” Y’shtola’s other hand also makes it to her head, and both tangle in her hair. For all she had done for her, Y’shtola had earned a treat, and Sahri set out to deliver one. Fortunately, her tongue was practiced. She teases Y’shtola with a few flat licks up her slit before pressing her face in deep, pinpointing her tongue on the woman’s clit and moving in to suckle. That earns a small groan from her, a sound that sends a thrill down Sahri’s spine. What she wouldn’t give to hear a chorus of such sounds from Y’shtola...She teases Y’shtola’s folds once more before spreading them apart and thrusting her tongue inward.

To Sahri’s delight, she quickly learned Y’shtola was not a woman to restrict her sounds of pleasure. As she wrote patterns into Y’shtola’s core with her tongue, Sahri was diligent to retain an expert balance between teasing clit and folds. This earned an increasing array of noises from Y’shtola, starting at understated groans and gasps and building into full-throated moans--in tandem with rocks of her hips. Sahri gladly leaned into them, pride and arousal coursing through her at the knowledge of the pleasure she brought. She never quite reached Sahri’s typical volume, but it was more than enough for her. Sahri shudders when Y’shtola’s walls clench and her juices pour unto her tongue, relishing the pain of Y’shtola tugging at her hair. She trailed off her mouth’s ministrations into the smallest laps as Y’shtola rode out her peak, ceasing entirely when Y’shtola’s grip on her hair slacks.

“You…” Y’shtola attempts to begin as Sahri sits up to meet her face-to-face.

“Yes, Shtola?” Sahri is beyond pleased. Y’shtola lets out a small laugh.

“You have a knack for using your tongue, grave though the irony may be. Is this how you maintain so many lovers?”

“That and my charm, I would hope.” Sahri’s tail slowly swooshes behind her. 

“You do possess an abundance of that.” Y’shtola shakes her head as her eyes open. “Very well. You’ve more than earned your touch.” She turns around and undoes the many straps on the back of her dress. Pulling the shoulders apart, she reveals the magnificent expanse of her bare back, allowing the dress to slip down her arms. 

“Do not think I was oblivious to your stares,” Y’shtola teases, looking over her shoulder at Sahri with beseeching eyes. Sahri gladly closes the gap and places her hands on the woman’s back.

“Guilty as charged,” she admits with a giggle, focusing on the sweet sensation of hands sweeping across skin.

“You’re fortunate I welcomed them,” Y’shtola tells her as she pulls Sahri’s hands around to her front, guiding them to cup her breasts. Sahri isn’t certain if her bra fell down with the dress or if she was never wearing one in the first place, but they were certainly bare now. She gladly begins to play with them, to tweak Y’shtola’s nipples as she rests her head over her shoulder. She drinks in the sight of Y’shtola’s frontal nudity, running a finger down the woman’s matching scar. She could only hope she was capable of protecting her love from such future harm.

“You’re beautiful, Y’shtola,” Sahri tells her, bare breasts pressed against Y’shtola’s back. The woman turns to her and smiles.

“I know.”

Sahri’s cheeks heat as Y’shtola pulls her into a slow kiss. She eagerly returns it, pushing her tongue into Y’shtola’s mouth as she continues to take in the feeling of her skin. Y’shtola responds in kind, and the kiss quickly turns heated. Sahri’s hands venture back to Y’shtola’s breasts and play with them more intently, trying to see if she can earn any more delightful sounds from her. She succeeds, and Y’shtola breaks her kiss and pulls her hands back.

“Careful now, moonbeam,” Y’shtola warns. “You’re like to stoke my passions again.” 

“And if that is my purpose?” Sahri asks with a smirk. Y’shtola’s eyes narrow pleasantly.

“If so, I may have to indulge you,” she tells Sahri, kicking off the remainder of her clothing before turning to face her in her entirety. “I made love to you, earlier, but I did not properly  _ fuck  _ you as I initially intended. Would you like that?”

“Um…” Oh. That instantly sent the heat pooling deep in her once more. “Y...Yes???” Sahri manages to get out while her face swelters.

“Yes, what?” Oh, she wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Yes...Yes.” Sahri collects herself. She reminded herself she was no mewling babe to sex, however much Y’shtola’s smoldering gaze tried to convince her otherwise. “Fuck me. Fuck me, Y’shtola.” Such domineering, she would gladly beg for. She pulls the woman’s hands to her chest. “Please…”

“Mmmm…” Y’shtola licks her lips. “If you’re to be so insistent, I have little choice…” She roughly pulls Sahri into another kiss, mimicking the possessiveness her tongue had displayed earlier. Yet this time, instead of nibbling, she bites Sahri’s lips in earnest--Sahri gasps with delight. Yes, fuck…

Y’shtola takes a moment to observe Sahri’s flushed face before moving down to her neck, peppering kisses along it before sinking in her teeth yet again. At each point she bit, Y’shtola created a seal with her lips and sucked intently. Oh, she wanted to leave bruising marks--Sahri wasn’t certain if their tastes were serendipitously aligned, or it was simply that easy for Y’shtola to read what she enjoyed, but she was thankful either way. Even moreso when she felt Y’shtola’s nails rake down her back, her bites trailing to where her neck met her collar. She yearned for this surrender, wouldn’t mind if Y’shtola colored her whole body purple, she thinks…

That is, until Y’shtola dares to sink her teeth into her breast, and Sahri lets out a small, wounded shriek. Y’shtola immediately pulls off and meets Sahri’s eyes.

“Too much?” She is not teasing, but completely sincere. 

“I…” Sahri scratches her cheek. It...It felt weak to admit this, somehow. Y’shtola twines their fingers together. 

“Talk to me. I do not mind if the answer is yes.” Her thumb rubs across the back of Sahri’s hand. Ah...This woman could soothe her as easily as she worked her up.

“...It might be,” Sahri admits, finally. “Sorry. It reminds me of…” She gestures at her scars, and Y’shtola’s eyes widen in sympathy.

“Pray do not apologize. There is no purpose to this if you do not find it enjoyable.” She smiles. “I would much prefer your honesty.” Sahri is helpless but to smile back.

In apology, Y’shtola presses kisses to the area she bit--passion no less fervent, only more gently channeled. The kisses continue around her breasts, and the lingering vestiges of Sahri’s discomfort fade when Y’shtola’s tongue lavishes her nipples with attention. Sahri gives a small moan, and Y’shtola nurtures the sound with her every lick, suckle, tug of her lips. Her mouth lingers there for more than a few minutes, determined to draw forth every drop of pleasure she possibly could. When she finally pulls away, her focus trails lower. 

“...Would you mind teeth here?” Y’shtola runs her fingers down Sahri’s inner thigh, and Sahri shivers.

“Goodness, no,” Sahri tells her. “Just...keep in mind, they will in all likelihood be visible, with the clothing I brought…” Y’shtola hums with contentment. 

“All the better.” Y’shtola’s eyes burn with a flame that has Sahri sinking back into the bed. “I would let the world know you are mine.”

At that, Sahri can only muster a needy whine--she wanted them to know too, desperately. She gasps with relief when Y’shtola sinks her teeth into the soft skin of her thigh, resisting every urge to reach down and touch herself--she knew Y’shtola would arrive there before long. But gods, it was hard to be patient as the woman meticulously decorated her legs with twin rings of bites. After a seeming eternity, she finally relents. 

“There,” Y’shtola declares, sounding proud of her work. “I can finally feel content to use this.” Sahri raises an eyebrow when Y’shtola pulls away to rummage for something under her bed. She catches the woman’s meaning when she emerges with a dildo, strap attached.

“Wh...Why do you have one of those, here?” Sahri asks in disbelief. She’d understand if Y’shtola had one among her affects in the Source, but to acquire a new one in the First…? That gives Y’shtola a hearty laugh. 

“Oh, do not look at me like that, moonbeam,” she pleads. “It’s not been used--I only thought to be prepared if the situation arose. Be flattered--You’ll be the one to break it in.” Y’shtola shocks Sahri when she nonchalantly takes its full length into her mouth. By the time it reemerges, thoroughly wetted, Sahri has obediently spread her legs.

“That’s better.” 

Y’shtola deftly attaches the harness and takes her position above Sahri, using her hand to line up the toy with Sahri’s entrance. She leans in close to Sahri’s face, smiling widely. Sahri gulps, but beams up at her. 

“If you would humor me…” Y’shtola runs a finger through Sahri’s hair. “Tell me once more--what is it you want me to do?” 

Sahri throws her arms around Y’shtola’s back, giggling. 

“Fuck me, Shtola?” 

And so Y’shtola pushes inside her, Sahri gasping at the sensation of being filled. The finger-fucking Sahri recieved earlier served well to prepare for a smooth entry. When she bottoms out, Y’shtola pulls Sahri into a deep kiss, tasting her gasps as she sets a deliberate but vicious pace. After all the anticipation, the buildup, each impact sends Sahri reeling, struggling to maintain coherence. She loses herself to the rhythm til Y’shtola’s voice breaks her from it.

“I’m surprised.” Opening her eyes between gasps, between moans, Sahri sees the woman sitting at a higher angle, looking down at her smugly. “I genuinely believed it would take a concerted effort to tame a woman of your towering caliber.” 

“I--Ah…I…” Sahri tries to offer an explanation between pleasure and embarrassment both, but Y’shtola places a finger on Sahri’s lower lip.

“I know you are fiercer than this,” Y’shtola continues. “Far more stubborn. Capable of much greater.” Her finger moves to tilt Sahri’s chin upwards. “Show me that strength, Warrior of Darkness.”

A switch flips, and the challenge sends Sahri into a fever--she was not about to disappoint her Shtola. She lunges forward and sinks her teeth sharply into Y’shtola’s neck, digging her nails into her back and meeting every thrust of Y’shtola’s hips with a thrust of her own, fucking herself on the strap as much as Y’shtola fucked her.

“ _ There _ are the huntress’ fangs,” Y’shtola sighs in the utmost relief.

The remainder of their lovemaking is consumed in furious motion. Y’shtola never falters in her pace, and though Sahri attempts more than once to flip their positions, Y’shtola retains a firm dominance. This only flares Sahri’s heat further, and she instead redirects her efforts towards raking her fangs across the woman’s neck--If Y’shtola wanted to let the world know of her claim, Sahri would do the same. As Y’shtola’s nails scrape patterns into Sahri’s back, Sahri’s bites latch to the woman’s pulse point, then lower.

“Can I--” she pulls away to ask, but Y’shtola immediately cuts her off, pushing Sahri’s head to her chest.

“I have  _ no _ objections here. Feast.”

Sahri sinks her teeth into Y’shtola’s breast, and sees one of her hands move to finger herself under the strap. Good. Sahri could feel herself slowly approaching clenching down, herself. She takes the opportunity to try throwing Y’shtola once more, but the woman firmly retains her balance.

“Cunning, but it will take more than that, moonbeam.”

Growling in mock-frustration, Sahri refocuses her attention on Y’shtola’s breasts, alternating between suckling and leaving bite marks--each earning utterly enthralling sounds from the woman above her. Y’shtola’s hand holds her head to her chest, and as they thrust in unison, Sahri feels the heat melding their bodies into one. It was astonishing, how they’d learned to dance in tune to the others’ body--the product of no small effort, but all the more satisfying for it. Ah...How had Sahri known this woman for so many years, never realizing how well they’d slot together if they only tried? This was a blindingly new love she craved to watch become worn and true, to blossom in the dark. Sahri releases Y’shtola’s breast and gasps.

“Sh...Shtola. Shtola…!”

“Sahri. Sahri.” 

Sahri comes first, whole body tensing around the strap before falling back slack--thoroughly exhausted. Y’shtola soon comes with a gasp herself and collapses forward. She hugs Sahri close as they catch their breath in the afterglow. Sahri is vaguely aware of one of Y’shtola’s fingers twirling in her hair as they lay together. Eventually, she feels a kiss at her cheek, and Y’shtola speaks.

“You never cease to impress, moonbeam.” Weary, Sahri smiles and shakes her head.

“I should be saying that about you…I’m winded as I would be after a long day of battle.”

Y’shtola chuckles and pushes herself up, sliding the dildo from Sahri and removing the harness, throwing the toy aside to be dealt with later. Sahri moves to her side and Y’shtola lays back down next to her. She quickly pulls the covers atop them.

“I trust you will not object to rest, now?” Y’shtola asks.

“I’m not certain I could move if I tried.” The two share a laugh. Y’shtola’s arms circle around Sahri’s waist and she lays her head against her back, tangling their legs together.

“It is fortunate you’re adapted to sleep while being held,” Y’shtola says in a quiet voice. “My rest will ever be sounder knowing you have not left my side.” Sahri remembers the woman expressing a similar sentiment when they first slept like this in the Pendants. She rests her hand where Y’shtola’s clasp. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way, love.” Sahri can feel Y’shtola’s smile, and it eases her ever closer to slumber.

“I do love you, Sahri Rhoshaan…”

……………………………………………………………………………………….

_ Ryne’s eyes flutter open to find herself floating in the vast aetherial sea. It is as if the sunless sea surrounds her from all angles--stars scattered throughout the void, comets of rainbow streaking stunning paths across the sky. Unmistakable, of course, is the veritable mountain of icy blue crystal suspended before her. Ryne gapes at it, awe--and a tinge of fright--taking over her expression. Sahri smiles down as she watches the girl move closer. _

_ “Through time and space hast thou journeyed unto me...as I knew thou wouldst.” Ryne jolts, glancing upwards in the direction of the sound’s source. _

_ “...Sahri?” _

_ Sahri finds herself floating downwards to Ryne’s height, unable but to keep smiling. For some reason, she was wearing nothing more than her nightdress.  _

_ “We are the Word of the Mother,” she hears in her own voice. “We who were once called ‘Sahri.’” Ryne’s eyes widen. _

_ “I...I don’t understand. I’ve been searching for so long, Sahri. We all have. What...what happened? Why are you here?” _

_ Sahri’s eyes narrow tenderly. “Much time hath passed for thee, sweet Ryne,” she begins to explain. “Since...since I hearkened to Her word. Mother...she guided me, that I might be delivered unto the aetherial sea...Her voice had grown silent, so to Her, I made an offering.” _

_ “An...an offering?” Ryne asks, voice trembling. “...Of...yourself…?” Sahri continues to smile. She floats close to Ryne, placing a hand on her cheek, and nods. _

_ “We speak now with one Voice. One Will. One Word. Unto thee we bequeath the most precious of gifts: the truth which lieth at the heart of this world. Thus, do we beseech thee once more, Ryne. Hear...Feel...Think...”  _

_ (“Remember,” wreaks a tear in the sky.) _

_ Sahri floats back, arms extended towards Ryne--enchanting her in light, and summoning her to fly at her side. They chart a course towards the crystal mass, and as they pass by, Sahri notices her reflection in the pale blue glow.  _

_ Her eyes are a solid, homogenous blue. No pupils--no life--can be found at their centers.  _

_ She wants to scream, to yell to Ryne to get as far away as she can, but she can only smile. Can only gaze upon her own face framed in crystalline blue. There was nothing, nothing except crystal--all existence gave way to a wall of azure. Her entire body is trapped within, wearing a barefooted mockery of innocence--an ever unceasing smile. She no longer exists without. Her entire existence is her Mother’s. Yet her vantage point is locked, looking inwards. _

_ A single drop catches Sahri’s attention--a bead of sweat running down her face. Sweat...no, it was something else altogether. Pure light, emitting an ethereal glow. Another drop runs down her face, and another, til her whole face streaks with light, her eyes widening, her jaw yanked open to unnatural proportions--yet still, somehow, maintaining a smile. Tesleen. This sight was a ghastly mirror of Tesleen’s….. _

_ Sahri wants to squeeze her eyes shut, turn her head, flail her arms to swim away from the awful image. Yet, she no longer has a body to do so. So she can only watch, watch her body crack and grow, feathers of white swirling around her. She was her Mother’s plaything, now--a plaything of the light, its dedicated servant. There was no resisting. Only accepting fate with a smile.  _

_ Even this vision, though, begins to blur, and Sahri feels her remaining existence become untethered. Reality shatters into glass, pulling apart in all directions--shards of this disembodied will along with it. Hydaelyn is splitting her apart, piece by piece torn asunder--and Sahri remains painfully conscious through the dissection, fully aware when yet another piece of her mind fades into the abyss. She no longer recognizes the grinning figure floating before her in crystal. There is nothing more for her, nothing more than to surrender the last of herself to the sweet voice enveloping her. _

_ “Hear…” _

_ “Feel…” _

_ “Think.” _

_ ………………………………………………………………………………….. _

Sahri awakes with a start, breathing heavy. Her surroundings are quiet--as she takes them in, she realizes the faint blue light illuminates none other than Y’shtola’s room. Of course...That is where she had fallen asleep, after all. She turns her head to see her newest love still sound asleep, peacefully dreaming. At least she hadn’t woken her, but…

Her heart pounded painfully, refusing to slow even enveloped by comfort. It must be the light, she realizes, pulse increasing. The light was overwhelming her. Sahri looks at her hand and studies it closely. It seemed normal enough, and yet...As she continued to watch, there was an unsettling change. Were those...wisps of light flickering around it? Her hand is brighter than before, Sahri realizes. No...No. She couldn’t...she couldn’t let it take her. Not here. Not now. She needed...She needed…

Sahri carefully slips out of Y’shtola’s hold, trying not to disturb her rest, and quickly throws some clothes on. After escaping through the bedroom door--closing it as carefully as she can--she breaks into a sprint, singular destination in mind. She needed…She needed to get there, before…! Luckily, Slitherbough’s central green was empty at this time of night, so no one noticed when she snuck into the side cave Runar had brought her to earlier. Waiting there, to her profound relief, were the jugs of the Blessed’s most cherished water. 

Calm instantly pours through her when she splashes some on her face, relishing the sweet tingle. Ah…Yes. Yes. Sahri could feel her heart calming, her breathing becoming more even. This enchanted dark truly did have the capacity to quell the light. The most tangible form of protection Slitherbough had to offer. Resting on her knees, Sahri realizes just how tired she is…

“Why are you here?” 

Sahri jumps, but the spike in her heart rate subsides when she sees who the voice belongs to.

“Oh...Shtola.” The woman had also haphazardly put on some clothing. She stands gazing at Sahri, arms folded and brow furrowed. “...Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but there was little you could have done to avoid it.” The woman shrugs as she walks closer. “I am a light sleeper. Now, my question?” Sahri ponders what she could possibly tell her. She...she did not wish to repay Y’shtola’s unfailing honesty with lies…

“...A nightmare,” she admits. “I needed to take a walk.” Not dishonest, at least. Y’shtola’s eyes turn sad, and she walks next to Sahri, wrapping a comforting arm around her back. 

“I see…” Y’shtola taps her cheek. “...Is it something you’d like to discuss?” Biting her lip, Sahri shakes her head. Y’shtola frowns. “I...will not push the issue, then. There have certainly been nightmares I wished to forget and move forward from.” She seems dissatisfied, however, and Sahri notices her glancing between her face and the jug of water. Ah...She  _ would _ be able to tell, wouldn’t she? 

“...You continue to fear the light,” she correctly observes. “Do you not trust my word that its corruption no longer dwells within you?” There is a note of hurt in her voice. Sahri’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head rapidly.

“No, no! I do. I do trust you, Shtola. I swear to you, I do.” And she does. She does. What was it she continued to feel, though? Perhaps it hid...Hid beyond Y’shtola’s sight...Sahri clutches her chest. “It’s just…” She pauses.

“It’s just what?” Perhaps she shouldn’t have given Y’shtola that to pursue.

“...Light is a terrible thing. I need to be certain. That’s all.” That prompts Y’shtola to quirk her eyebrow.

“Light is a terrible thing?” she asks. “I suppose it is not surprising you would think so--The experience of the First has laid the horror of its abundance in plain sight. But you must remember--light is but another element of nature, and as such, it has no morality. No intentionality. After all, light is also the source of your blessing, is it not? A blessing which allows you to protect that which you hold dear.”

Sahri’s heart leaps at the mention of her “blessing.” Hydaelyn’s claim on her...No. No. She forces the vestiges of her dream out of her mind. Was...that “blessing” really so important to her strength? Midgardsormr seemed convinced otherwise. And even if it was, the intention with which it was given…

“Moonbeam?” Y’shtola breaks her train of thought. Ah...she needed to respond.

“R...Right,” she offers. Gods, Sahri scolds herself. When had she become so weak-willed?

“I can tell you are not convinced. Do you truly believe that if another element had assaulted the First--fire, earth, darkness--its effects would be any less devastating? Or that another element would have wreaked any less havoc on your body?”

“...I have no idea,” Sahri admits.

“Mmm…” Y’shtola places a hand on her face, pondering. “A more thorough examination of nature’s elements should be our immediate priority in your studies, then.” She gives Sahri a smile. “But...that is for the morning. You will not be able to absorb the information without sufficient sleep. Won’t you return to bed with me?” She strokes Sahri’s hair, putting her at ease. Sahri manages to smile back.

“...As you wish. Thank you, love.” She gives Y’shtola a kiss on the cheek, and there’s no mistaking the slight flush of pink on her face. “Let’s be off, then.”

To Sahri’s relief, she now finds peaceful slumber tangled in Y’shtola’s arms. Yet light ever lingers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't have been the only one to find that first Word of the Mother scene back in 3.x creepy, right? Like obviously they clarified later that it was definitely still Minfilia in there but that first meeting...Whew.


	8. Poorest Players on the Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sahri finds something she does not expect in Emet-Selch: sincerity.

_ Sahri collapses face-first onto the bed before her. It was kind for the people of Fanow to point her towards an unoccupied home, but what was Y’shtola thinking? How could Sahri possibly rest at a time like this? The Eulmoran Army was on their tail, the people of Slitherbough in danger, and the woman bid her lay down while she charted their next course? _

_...She sighs. Perhaps there was some logic to it. Sahri’s energy was spent, physically but even moreso emotionally, and Y’shtola likely recognized her spirit’s fatigue. How else could she possibly feel…? The Eulmorans arriving the instant she stumbled across a conversation she was never meant to hear...Even though she’d known the other Scions had their secrets, part of her still wanted to hope. Still wanted to believe in them. They were her closest companions, were they not? The fear channeled as anger in Y’shtola’s voice had her wondering otherwise. From the moment they met in Il Mheg, Urianger had been baldly lying to her face...And while Y’shtola’s pursuit for the truth gave her some heart, she couldn’t help but notice the woman had not come to her about her suspicions… _

_ No, no. This was exactly what she shouldn’t be doing. These thoughts had no place in her head--not now. She needed to refocus her mind, steel herself for the task ahead, and perhaps a nap was the best way to achieve that. As she drifted off, so too would her despair...Sahri closes her eyes and focuses on the mattress beneath. Yes...It was comfortable enough. In fact, she already felt herself… _

_ “Sleeping? At such a dire hour? You value your beauty rest more than I would have expected.”  _

_ Opening her eyes, Sahri looks up to see gold sneering down at her. Emet-Selch had taken a seat on her bed. By the Twelve, not now. _

_ “This is not the time, Ascian,” she tells him, gritting her teeth. _

_ “We’re back to ‘Ascian,’ now?” The man frowns. “And here I was, imagining our little heart-to-heart had yielded a genuine breakthrough.” Sahri sighs. She sits up, legs crossed, fussing with her hair before facing him.  _

_ “Emet, then,” she corrects herself. “You continue to possess the most dreadful sense of timing.”  _

_ “You flatter me, truly.” The smile returns to his face. Sahri finds one creeping onto her own, but she shakes her head and redoubles her frustration.  _

_ “Why are you here? Do you need something from me?”  _

_ “Do I need a reason to check in on everyone’s favorite hero?” he deflects. “If I may say, you carry yourself with an even greater gloom than before--and that is a remarkable feat. I’m struggling to understand what about you so rallies the masses. What ails you now?” _

_ “I…” Sahri hugs her knees, averting her eyes from his gaze. “...You already know.” A gloved finger touches her cheek and directs her attention back, moving to her chin to tilt her head upwards. Sahri’s face tinges with warmth. _

_ “More trouble with your ‘friends?’” Emet’s smugness reaches glorious new heights. “I was under the misapprehension that those were supposed to bolster your spirits, not dampen them. It is difficult indeed to trust your life to those who would not trust you in turn. Are you honestly resolved to see this through? Even now? You’ve still time to quit while you’re ahead.” _

_ Sahri gives a firm nod. Well, the best she can with his finger under her chin. “I am. The Lightwardens must fall.” Emet frowns and withdraws his finger. Sahri wants the warmth back.  _

_ “Alas. Then I will continue to observe your progress from the shadows.” He begins to move to the edge of the bed. _

_ “...That’s...that’s it?” Sahri asks in disbelief. “Just like that, you’re leaving?” Emet ceases his movement, turning back towards Sahri with a curious expression. _

_ “...What? Will you miss me if I do?” Damn him. The heat in Sahri’s face rises to full bloom. Again, he finds just the way to get under her skin. She should feel annoyed, but instead reels at a stir of affection.  _

_ “You...did abandon me to the cold rather quickly, after our ‘heart-to-heart.’” His grin sends something welling in her core. Gods, she knew the tryst was a terrible idea. She knew it. She knew it would be impossible to keep her feelings in check afterwards. It always was.  _

_ “Did you expect differently?” he asks, taunting. “Did you expect me to regale you with post-coital banter? *Cuddling*, perhaps? Surely, that’s why you keep the boor with a gunblade around.”  _

_ “How did--?” Sahri buries her face in her hands. Damn her, she was weak. What was it about him that did this to her? It was such a familiar feeling, but she could not put her finger on it. He was...He was…… _

_ Emet’s hands move hers away and roughly take hold of her face, again forcing her gaze back to his. His fingers rub her cheeks, slowly, teasingly… _

_ “Why do you continue to insist on turning away from me?” he asks her. “Can’t face your own desires, hero?” It was back in his eyes, that fire that she...that she...that she lo--that enraptured her so. _

_ “Emet…” she whines.  _

_ “Be truthful with yourself.” His thumb leaves her cheek, instead brushing over her lower lip. “You want more from me. Don’t you?”  _

_ “...Yes,” Sahri confesses, heart racing. “Yes. Yes. Ye--mmmmm…”  _

_ Emet’s thumb invades her mouth, pressing down on her tongue, and Sahri lets out a tiny moan. Her lips close around it and she sucks, lavishing the digit with her tongue. Skin...she wants skin, not this glove. _

_ “Obedient little kitten, aren’t you?”  _

_ The tone in Emet’s voice strikes a chord of her frustration. She...she was more than that. She could take what she wanted, as well. His ego clearly needed to be knocked down a few pegs. Sahri grabs hold of Emet’s wrist with two hands. She uses her tongue to find a loose fold in the glove and closes her teeth on it, tugging at the glove with her mouth. With an impressed hum, Emet allows her to pull it all the way off and discard it to the side--lunging back in to reclaim the digit she relinquished. Finally, she tastes his skin, and she breathes a sigh of relief--it warms her heart as would a homecoming.  _

_ Sahri diligently sucks at his thumb, running her tongue all around it, and she thinks to herself Emet is being far too quiet. She soon learns why. A hand in her hair rips her off of the man’s thumb and angles her gaze downwards. There stood Emet’s cock, freed and at attention.  _

_ “There are much more suitable places to put that mouth of yours to work.” _

_ Sahri gulps. She...she had not actually gotten the chance to glimpse the man’s length during their first encounter. Or any bit of skin hidden under his attire, for that matter. Its size was worthy of a man who spawned an imperial line, Sahri had to admit, and she yearned to taste it. She leans forward, indicating her consent, and Emet shoves her head atop it.  _

_ She gives his tip a few explorative licks, shuddering when she tastes a bead of his pre. Its tang was...oddly soothing. A smile sneaks its way onto Sahri’s face, heart stirring with something mysterious, something powerful. She eagerly closes her lips around Emet’s length, and without thinking she swirls her tongue just where his tip gave way to shaft. Her ears perk when she’s greeted with a groan. She glances up to see the smug expression has left the man’s face, replaced with...frustration? And was that the slightest tinge of pink to his cheeks? Sahri quickly fills the void left by his self-satisfaction with her own. _

_ “You like that, hm?” she asks, grinning.  _

_ Emet scoffs. “Do not presume to give me lip, hero.”  _

_ Perhaps not lip, but she’d gladly give more tongue. Sahri lowers her head once more and concentrates more firmly on the area underneath his tip, delighted to find he could not stifle every groan. How fortunate that she had found a weak spot, so quickly. She begins to ponder if she could bring the man to orgasm just by this, but the hand in her hair abruptly shoves her the rest of the way down his cock. She gags at the sudden feeling of dick in her throat, but adjusts quickly--if he thought he’d forced her somewhere uncomfortable, he was sorely mistaken. Sahri slowly begins to bob her head, tongue now working closer to his base. Yet Emet attempts to seize control once again, tangling both hands in her hair and thrusting his hips to his own rhythm--Sahri moans around him. Fuck, she loved it when he used her.  _

_ Sahri again looks up at Emet as he fucks her face. She cannot tell if he is displeased--there’s certainly an intensity and exertion to his expression. Well, she knew that she, for one, was having a grand time. Emet brought the same energy to fucking her that he did in the woods--no matter how he tried to throw her, she knew just how to keep up. It was familiar, yes, and stunningly comfortable...But more than that, it had a peculiar ache. The selfsame ache of once more tasting a favorite dish after years of strife fooled you into thinking yourself immune to life’s simple joys. Which is far and away the most profound Sahri has ever felt while sucking dick. _

_ There was no denying the affection bubbling in her chest. Indignant as she might try to make herself over the source of this enjoyment, Sahri could not keep herself from smiling around Emet’s cock. There was a simple joy to putting a crack in Emet’s mask of aloof confidence. Glimpsing through it the sight--and sound--of the man unraveled. Sahri meets his eyes. There is little doubt he can see the tranquility and affection brimming in her own. He may have some fun needling her over that later, but bugger her, it was against her nature to be anything but sincere with her partners. …Her...partner… _

_ Studying the man’s own shifting expression was a fascinating endeavor. When his playfulness stopped, he’d settled on a cool glare--a glare in which she saw the subtlest movement. He was deep in thought, though over what, she could not say. ….Unless...were her strange feelings not wrong? Did she actually know the man from somewhere? It would explain his fixation on her...As the two’s gazes continue to lock, Sahri notices Emet’s eyes widening. It was slight, at first, but soon they are as saucers, the man gripped with an expression of...realization? ...Recognition? _

_ ***** _

_ He knew what the woman would be saying if her mouth was not occupied--he can see it in the eyes framed by her black mask. The loving eyes which reeled him back into her embrace day upon day, night upon night. _

_ “What’s this?” she’d ask, voice teasing. “Nothing to say, love? No snide retorts? I’ve caught you at a rare time indeed.”  _

_ She squeezes his hand, eyes squeezing in tandem--part of the adorable way her face scrunched when she was in love. He smiles and allows her this moment of satisfaction--he’d pay it back in full, later. For now, he simply squeezes her hand back and tells her, _

_ “I love you.” _

_ Her eyes sparkle. _

_ ***** _

_ “Damn you,” is all Sahri hears before her world is sent spinning. By the time she realizes she’s been flipped on her back, Emet is tearing her panties off of her. _

_ “E-Emet, what--?” Sahri’s question is both interrupted and answered when the man pushes her thighs apart and pins them down. “P-Please…” she sputters the instant before he forces himself between her folds. There is a bit more of a sting to his entry than she’d like, but it’s difficult to care when she sees the look on Emet’s face.  _

_ The man had completely lost his cool. Where before burned a controlled blaze now raged a scorching inferno, passion raw and undiluted, and all directed at her. He was ferocious and he was *invested,* he was not looking past her but drilling his eyes straight to her core, and gods did she moan. Any pain rapidly faded from his thrusts, in its place rushing heat and wetness and need. Because of the way he pinned her, she could not roll her hips into his thrusts, but that wasn’t necessary to succumb to her delirious pleasure. She relishes in the feeling of a still-bare hand digging nails into her thigh, the spot feeling as potent a point of connection as the union of their sexes.  _

_ Through her trembling, Sahri forced her eyes to stay open--she didn’t want to miss an instant of the sight above her. His brows furrowed, his teeth clenched, a bead of sweat running down his face... By the Twelve, he was beautiful when all his theatre had been stripped back. A thoroughly gorgeous man, gorgeous face, gorgeous hair, gorgeous eyes, all making a genuine connection with her for the very first time. He wasn’t merely playing with her--he wanted her, he craved her like she craved him, and this silent admittance to one another brought them to an unmatched synchrony. Through the pleasure, through the raw emotion on display, they were connected.  _

_ Being the only part of him she can reach, Sahri places her hands atop his. One is still shielded by a glove, but the other...It was surprisingly soft, his hand. Warm, and she much expected she’d enjoy the feeling of hers being held in it. Sahri didn’t understand why she was feeling this--it was maddening, barely eluding her grasp--but she couldn’t shut out the emotions if she tried.  _

_ His eyes soften as she stares into them. They are no less honest, no less passionate, yet...sadder, somehow. He shuts them with a huff and gives a few final, staggered thrusts that send Sahri teetering over the edge as seed spills into her. They gasp in unison. _

_ Both need a few moments to recover from...whatever had just exploded between them. Mutual panting fills the room through their afterglows, and Sahri doesn’t think she would mind if this instant extended into eternity. Unfortunately, time marches on, indifferent to the intensity of one’s wishes. Emet pulls away from her, somewhat inelegantly wrestling his clothes back to order before he hoists himself off the bed. He turns his back to her, and Sahri notices flecks of darkness around him--no doubt preparing to dematerialize. _

_ “W-Wait!” Sahri calls out, and he freezes. She crawls on her hands and knees to the edge of the bed. No, no, not yet…Something essential was being torn away from her. “Please...Stay a few moments longer. Just...just a few moments longer.” He does not respond. “Emet,” she says, vainly hoping to convey what her heart knew but her mind had forgotten. _

_ “...Did I not make myself clear?” Emet seems to have regained some of his composure. “I am not your man for such idle indulgences.” He raises an arm, no doubt readying a dramatic gesture before he teleports away for good.  _

_ “I...I know you,” Sahri tells him, desperate. He stiffens. “I know you...Don’t I?” She had nothing to back this suspicion, but...it felt true. True as anything she’d felt. Emet pivots slightly, turning his head back towards her. His eyes are cold. _

_ “...Do you, now?” he asks. “I did once found a little empire known as Garlemald. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.” Sahri shakes her head vigorously.  _

_ “No, no, I…” She was far, far past the point of shame with this man. He already had all the tools to pick her apart, if he so wished. “I mean, personally. From the moment you appeared before us in the Crystarium, I thought so,” she tries to explain. He quirks an eyebrow. _

_ “Is that so?” He calculates his next words. “And where, exactly, do you think we have met?” _

_ “I…” Sahri sighs. “...I don’t know. I can’t remember. No matter how hard I try, I can’t remember.” She clenches her fists. “I’m forgetting something important...I know I am. Don’t try to deny it. There are memories that should be there, but aren’t. I don’t...know what’s wrong with me. But, surely…” She looks to him, pleading. “Surely, you must. Something. Anything.” She sees a glint of sorrow cross his eyes once more. _

_ “...Hydaelyn has taken much from us all,” he states, gravely. _

_ “Hydaelyn…?” That...was admittedly not the name Sahri expected to hear. “What does she have to do with this?” Silence. “...Please. Hydaelyn has told me precious little, and even when she revealed to me the nature of the Source and its shards, I could sense she was omitting something vital. You, on the other hand, have been more than forthcoming. What do you know? Please, tell me.”  _

_ Of all things, a smile creeps onto Emet’s face. “That you would trust my word over hers...perhaps there is hope for you, yet.” He turns around to face her, confidence completely regained. “Let us make a deal then, hero.” _

_ “A deal?” Sahri did not like the sound of this. _

_ “Prove to me you have what it takes to track down these woods’ Lightwarden and claim its light for your own. Do so, and I’d be delighted to share all about your precious Mother--to you and your merry band both.” He raises his arms in question, wearing that intoxicating smirk. “Well? Simple enough, is it not?”  _

_ “...Very well,” Sahri concedes. “That was what I planned to do regardless, after all. I will hold you to your word.” She glares at him, conveying her conviction. His smirk grows to a grin. _

_ “I am not a man to go back on mine, I assure you.”  _

_ With that, he disappears into darkness. Sahri wastes no time preparing herself to leave. She had idled here long enough, and whatever clues Y’shtola had gleaned of their path, she would have to act on. The Lightwarden...Emet awaited her. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, why is Emet the best FF villain by a mile?


	9. Caught Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lukah settles into her life in Slitherbough, but a certain voice refuses to give her rest.

“Alright. Here I come!” 

Sahri uncovers her eyes to see Ovelin, Hargra, and Vondia standing about the green cave--but no children. They had all managed to slip out of immediate sight, it would seem, which was never a guarantee when playing hide-and-seek. On their breaks from Wrendia’s tutelage, this particular group of young ones had grown fond of roping the excitingly new Lady Lukah into their games. First, the Doman Adventurer’s Guild, and now them...it seemed children flocked to her. She supposed it had been her who brought these three together in the first place--encouraging the elven children to overcome their shyness and approach the hume boy always skipping around the northern cave. As Sahri walks towards the exit, she scans her surroundings to determine if any of the three had found a particularly covert spot in the cave’s sparse vegetation--yet she came up with nothing.

“They’re growing wiser, Lady Lukah.” Vondia’s voice catches her attention, and Sahri sees the drahn woman wearing a tender smile. In the Source, she would be known as a Xaela, but Sahri had learned of no such tribal distinction in Norvrandt. “You’ve trained them to seek out only the finest of hiding places. If not for the limited confines of the village, I’d suspect they would manage to elude you one of these days.” 

“I would very much like to see that,” Sahri answers with a small laugh. “Perhaps one day, these woods will find peace enough to allow us to expand our games.” 

“I’ve witnessed the sunless sea with my own two eyes,” Vondia responds. “After that, there is little I could believe to lay beyond our reach.” With a nod of agreement, Sahri bids the woman farewell--she should not keep the children waiting, after all. She leaves the cave for gentle sunlight, shrouded by a canopy of trees.

Nearly six weeks had come and gone since the night of the feast welcoming Sahri into the Blessed’s fold. By this point, the wisdom of taking up residence in Slitherbough was undeniable. It was nothing short of years since Sahri had known such sustained peace. Since setting out from her quiet home in the Twelveswood and becoming an adventurer, her life had been in a constant flurry of motion. Even between her stints as the people’s champion, it was never long before she was swept up in some grand undertaking--whether it was working under a most gentlemanly inspector, soaring through the Sea of Clouds alongside sky pirates, or lending a hand to a theater company fraying at the seams. It had taken her all but breaking to realize how unsustainable her course truly was.

As Lukah, her woes were a distant memory--easily forgotten, swept aside for a tranquil life among the trees. Light could not plague her. He could not plague her. In fact, his voice had been remarkably silent as of late. Every day, Sahri faced life anew, and every night she could go to sleep feeling all the better for it. Finding rest...in Shtola’s arms. 

Y’shtola had made little secret of their relationship, and Sahri was glad for it--she’d had quite enough of keeping truths hidden. The other villagers all seemed to accept it with joy, and Sahri had been subjected to more than a few curious inquiries into how Master Matoya carried herself behind closed doors. The two had settled into a shockingly natural domesticity with one another, easing into something of a daily routine. Y’shtola attended to her own affairs in the morning--after eating breakfast, which Sahri always insisted on preparing for her. Nights were the freest of times--variably occupied, but always spent together.

The afternoon in between was for joint study, and with Y’shtola’s guidance Sahri actually felt she was gaining a grasp of the basic tenets of aetherology. Some was knowledge she already understood intuitively, simply expressed in a more scientific manner. Other ideas were completely foreign, and thus much more difficult for Sahri to wrap her head around--especially when it came to equations. Oh, she was never good with numbers, and the Sharlyans had the gall to invent dozens of new symbols for them! At least Y'shtola had done her the favor of translating the First’s notation so she would not have to relearn them all in the Source, but...It was tiring, to say the least. Still, Sahri was determined--many of the subjects were indeed fascinating, and there was genuine satisfaction in finally reaching an understanding of a difficult topic. She’d admittedly been skeptical of Y’shtola’s zeal to pull her into scholarly pursuits, but the woman had not been off-base. While there was a gap in terms of raw knowledge, her mind was well-geared towards analysis--and with Y’shtola’s patience, Sahri was confident it was a gap which could be overcome. 

(True to her word, Y’shtola had made a particular focus of the nature of the elements. What Sahri had learned instinctively from her conjury, Y’shtola put into words, and she could now tell someone the key distinctive traits of each element in addition to those they all shared. According to what she’d learned, Y’shtola had been correct in saying an abundance of any element would have wrought a comparable level of devastation as light did to the First and to her own soul. That had matched what G’raha explained about the nature of Calamities, as well. Logically, she understood that. She did. Yet…) 

No, Sahri reminds herself. This was not the time to think of such things. Rather, it was high time for her search to begin. This time of day marked the high point of activity in the central green--yet the children were not among the villagers milling about. Out of the corner of her eye, Sahri catches an unnatural glimpse of deep blue. Turning her head, she sees the young elven girl had climbed to the top of a tree, cloaking herself among its foliage. A wave of nostalgia washes through Sahri, a smile rising to her face. Ah...How she had loved to climb the trees of the Twelveswood when she was a girl. Gathering ingredients for the night’s meal, seeking a quiet place to work on her latest craft, simply taking in the horizon...Despite how Baelsar’s Wall often marred her view, those were still warm memories. She may well have spent more time playing among the trees’ branches than below them. It was certainly a bold, creative spot to hide oneself--Sahri almost felt guilty she had noticed the girl first. She’ll come back to her later, she decides. 

Instead, she turns towards the shrubbery of the opposite direction. She scans the treetops once more, but neither of the boys had the same idea as their friend. A rustle in the bushes draws her attention, and surely enough, as she combs through them, she finds the elven boy hidden among white flowers. 

“Aw...First again?” The boy pouts, but Sahri ruffles his hair.

“You’re finding much better spots!” she reassures him. He stands up and moves out of the bush, looking unconvinced. “I really do mean it. You’ve just been getting unlucky, is all. Here…” Sahri rustles through her pouch and produces a sweet bread roll, left over from the breakfast she made Y’shtola. “A token of apology?” 

“For me?” He immediately forgets his frustration and takes the bread from her. The boy always loved his snacks. “Mmm...Fank yo, ady ukah!” He walks off, munching happily. 

Ensuring the last child wasn’t also in the vicinity, Sahri sets off for other parts of the village. No more of the trees or shrubs yielded results, so Sahri began to poke her head into some of the communal housing and side caves. (She and Y’shtola’s home and The Darker excepted, those being the two places the children wouldn’t dare roam without reason.) Hmm...Nothing. This was proving more difficult than she’d expected. She almost began to fear the hume boy had ventured outside the village confines. Fortunately, as she approached the cave which held the Blessed’s holy water, she finally laid eyes upon her target. He was pressed in the narrow space between a fallen tree trunk used as seating and the stone wall near the cave’s entrance. 

“There you are,” she says with a smile. The boy leaps to his feet, jubilant unlike the last.

“That took you a really long time!” He grins ear to ear. “I made you work for it, didn’t I, Lady Lukah?” 

Sahri laughs. “That you did. Well done.” The boy pumps his fists in excitement, and when he spots his already-found friend finishing the last of his bread, he dashes in his direction.

She really should set to uncovering the girl, now, but instead, Sahri’s gaze is pulled towards the cave beside which the boy hid. ...Well...If she was already here...Sahri glances around to ensure no one was looking her way. It wouldn’t matter if they did, but she always found herself checking, regardless. She makes her way inside, and when she arrives at a jug of water, she quickly splashes some on her face. Ahhhh...That tingle ever brought her peace. This water, too, had become part of Sahri’s daily routine--she could much more easily go on with her day knowing she was safe from the light’s influence. Y’shtola had gotten on her case about the habit more than once, but Sahri always managed to defuse the situation--after all, it’s not as if the water was  _ harming _ her, even if Y’shtola did not believe in its effects. There was more than enough water to spare, so really, all it brought was much needed relief. 

Her detour over, Sahri returns to the child she first found. She’s still there, bracing herself against a branch, and even as Sahri looks upward, the girl does not shift. Stubborn to the end--Sahri liked that. Rather than call out to her, Sahri decides to climb the tree and join the girl herself. 

“This was a thoughtful hiding place. Are you fond of climbing trees?” she asks, taking a comfortable seat on a nearby branch. Realizing she’d definitively been found, the elven girl pushes herself up to a seated position as well, looking at Sahri.

“...It’s pretty fun,” she tells Sahri, shyly. “But there aren’t many trees in the village...And Mother says it’s too dangerous to go outside.” Ah...Yes, the selection was rather limited.

“I grew up in the woods, too,” Sahri tells her, continuing to ease the girl with her smile. “And I climbed trees most every day--I had far too much energy, you see, and that was often how I spent it. I hear that’s a common problem for mystel children, in particular.” That earns a smile from the girl.

“Really?” she asks. “You and Master Matoya are the only mystel I’ve met...Do you think she was like that, too? Master Matoya, I mean…”

Sahri giggles. “Oh, without a doubt.” Apparently, the thought is amusing, as the girl giggles as well. 

“It’s a beautiful thing,” Sahri continues. “Wandering into the woods and climbing the tallest tree you find. It’s peaceful, up there. You can focus on what you need, listen to yourself think…” Sahri sighs wistfully. “And there truly is no beating the view.” 

“Wow…” The girl’s eyes are wide. “That sounds amazing. I wish I could try it…” 

“Hmm…” Sahri taps her chin, and an idea occurs to her. “Well...Perhaps it would be alright if I escorted you? Most of the trees in the Greatwood are likely a bit too tall for climbing, but I’m certain we could find a few that are suitable…” The girl gasps, clasping her hands together in delight.

“You...You would do that, Lady Lukah? Mother would have to say yes, if you were there!” Oh, this girl was far too precious.

“Well, I’ll make sure to run it by her, first,” she clarifies, “but I would love to.” 

“Thank you, Lady Lukah!” The girl beams. “Thank--Ah!”

The girl had leaned forward, arms outstretched as if moving to hug Sahri, apparently forgetting she was sitting on a tree branch. When she realizes her mistake, she begins to flail, but Sahri’s quick reflexes ensure she doesn’t take a spill.

“Rule number one of tree climbing: Always pay attention to your balance!” Sahri tells her, informing but not chiding. “For now, though, we should probably return to the ground.”

The girl nods in agreement. Sahri slides off the branch to the ground, holding out a hand to help the girl land safely. Shortly after, they are greeted by the two boys scampering up to them. 

“So that’s where you were hiding!” exclaims the hume boy, impressed. “I should have thought of that…”

“Lady Lukah said she’d take me tree climbing in the woods,” the girl tells him, failing to hide her boasting. The boy’s jaw falls slack.

“Whaaaaat? That’s not fair!” he whines. “Let me come, too!” Sahri should have expected this. Children always seemed eager to get their hands on what the others had. Though adults were no different, really.

“I’ll...need to talk to your parents about it beforehand,” she says, arms gesturing for patience. She turns to the elven boy. “I imagine you’ll be clamoring to accompany us, as well?” 

“Hmmm...Climbing trees? I dunno,” the boy responds, weighing his options. “I’ll have to think about it.” Sahri nods, and suddenly the boy perks up with a smile. “Oh, right! Did you have more of that bread, Lady Lukah? It was delicious…” 

“Wait...Lady Lukah gave you that bread?!” The hume boy’s voice again carries a hint of jealousy.

“Ah...I apologize,” she tells the boys. “That was the last roll I had…” The boys both make a sound of disappointment, but Sahri notices the elven girl is smiling at her.

“There was a sweet smell coming from you and Master Matoya’s home, earlier,” the girl explains. “You made that bread special for her, right?” Sahri’s cheeks tinge the slightest pink. 

“Caught me red-handed,” she says, somewhat embarrassed. “Yes, those were part of Toya and I’s breakfast.”

“Ohhhhhh...That makes sense.” The elven boy nods, as if coming to an understanding. “The love is what made it taste so good. Mom said that was the most important ingredient in any food.” Sahri laughs at the saccharine sentiment. She vaguely remembers Lukah telling her younger self the same once. 

“She’s not wrong,” Sahri tells him. “Love is a powerful motivator.” 

“Hey...Lady Lukah.” The hume boy is speaking in what Sahri can only describe as the loudest whisper she’s ever heard. “Is it true that you call Master Matoya by her...you know.” He cups his hands around his mouth. “Her name-of-the-light?” The other two children’s eyes widen, also looking towards Sahri for an answer. Ah, children and their scandalized interest in the gossip of who-likes-who. Sahri isn’t quite sure how to respond, because though the boy was correct, she didn’t want Slitherbough to suddenly get the idea wedding bells were on the horizon…

“Now, now. Let’s not pry into Lady Lukah’s personal business. Everyone has parts of their life they’d prefer to keep to themselves.” Wrendia’s voice draws their attention, and Sahri is saved. 

“Ah...Wrendia. It’s good to see you,” Sahri greets her. “I take it that it’s time to return the children to your care?”

“Indeed it is,” Wrendia tells her with a smile. “These three are the last stragglers before I can continue instruction.” 

“Awwwwww…” the children whine in unison. 

“Now, now, none of that,” Sahri tells them. “Lunch is soon, isn’t it? Go with Miss Wrendia and I’d be glad to prepare it for the class.

“Really?” the elven boy asks excitedly. Sahri looks to Wrendia for confirmation.

“Provided that’s alright with you, of course.”

“I’m certain the children would be delighted!” Wrendia tells her. “Thank you, Lady Lukah--Only, pray do not make the meal too hearty. I do not want the children dozing off afterwards…” 

Sahri shakes her head. “Oh, no, no. I was simply planning on prahok.” One of the Blessed’s traditional dishes, fermented dried fish and grilled meat of choice wrapped within a leaf of snapmint. Wrendia gives her a pleased nod. “Speaking of, what do you three want for the meat?”

“Pork, please!” the elven girl asks. Once upon a time, that would have been an indulgent request, according to what Ersabel had told her. The Blessed did not traditionally hunt wild hogs for meat, attempting to preserve their dwindling population for a ready supply of tusks. Since Sahri had vanquished the Lightwarden, however, the population had begun to rebound, and pork was suddenly in ready abundance.

“I want pork, too!” the elven boy tells her. Many in Slitherbough had acquired a taste for the meat now that it was plentiful.

“Of course. And you?” Sahri asks, looking towards the hume boy. A devious smile grows on his face.

“Give me raptor.” The other children look at the boy in shock, getting a hearty laugh from Sahri.

“Raptor! How bold. I’ll see what I can do.” 

After learning the remaining children’s preferences from Wrendia, Sahri says farewell and makes her way to the food stores. Even since her arrival, the stock had ballooned--hunting and gathering were becoming much more fruitful endeavors in the Greatwood. Sahri, of course, was also happy to contribute more than her fair share to it--she had to make up for her ravenous appetite somehow. Looking through the stores, she’s pleased to find leftover ingredients from the rolls she made earlier. It seemed she was going to be able to prepare an extra surprise. Once she’s gathered the ingredients--including some mushrooms, which she loved to stuff her prahok with in lieu of extra meat--Sahri sets the meat grilling over a fire and goes to work preparing the dough for the rolls. She slides them into the community oven, startled to feel arms wrap around her from behind.

“This is a rather large portion--even for you, Lukah.” The sweet tickle of Y’shtola’s voice in her ear brings a warm smile to Sahri’s face. 

“Toya…” Fortunately, Y’shtola had indeed taken to the nickname. Sahri would rather not get the name “Matoya” so mixed up in her head...She places her hands on top of her love’s and leans back into her embrace, angling her head so they can see each other’s faces. 

“This is actually a meal for Wrendia and her students,” Sahri explains. She hears a short laugh.

“That would explain it. I heard some of the children had taken to you.” The woman smirks. “Though I did not realize your compulsive need to be a mother was so severe that it has grown to include all of Slitherbough’s young.” 

“Not--not all of them,” Sahri tries to say, unconvincing. Y’shtola quirks an eyebrow, and the two share a laugh. Sahri’s face warms when she feels her love’s lips press to her cheek. She’d learned the woman was quite unafraid to show affection when she so desired, even in public. Not that Sahri minded.

“You ought to consider having children of your own one day,” Y’shtola tells her. “They certainly would not want for affection.” Sahri sighs. If only…

“Mmm...If circumstances allow. I would...need to know I could be there for them.” While Lukah had been as loving a mother as Sahri could have wished for, the fact that she never truly knew the man and woman who gave her life...She would wish it on no one. Too many times, the ones she loved had died  ~~ by her hand ~~ before her eyes, and too well did she know her own mortality. She would not dare hope for such a peaceful future until it had actually arrived. Zephirin’s blade had taught her the folly of dreaming prematurely. …Sahri attempts to pull her head from such gloomy thoughts. 

“What about you, Toya? Would you want to be a mother?”

“Hmmm…” Sahri sees the gears turning behind Y’shtola’s eyes. “With the right woman, I might well find it satisfying.” 

“I pray you’ll find her.” Sahri gently pulls loose Y’shtola’s hold. “Now, I really should pay attention to these dishes before I burn something. Would you like to keep me company?” 

“You know that I would, moonbeam.”

The two ease into idle conversation, and Sahri notices some of the flour on her hands had smeared onto Y’shtola’s. She pulls her aside to wash them, and shortly after, it’s time for Sahri to place the finishing touches on the food. As she assembles each serving of prahok, she carefully loads them into a large basket--bidding Y’shtola to take the bread from the oven. Sahri scrutinizes each roll and, satisfied, loads them into a basket of their own. She takes the basket of prahok into her hand, but when she reaches for the other, Y’shtola shoos her away--she’ll carry it herself, she says. Sahri knows better than to refuse her. 

The two make their way to where a smiling Wrendia speaks to about a dozen children, some sitting more restlessly than others. When the instructor’s eyes catch on the approaching women, the children all turn at once, murmuring with excitement. 

“Lady Lukah. And Master Matoya as well, I see!” Wrendia stands to greet them. “Did you also help prepare our meal?”

“Goodness, no.” Y’shtola shakes her head. “She did all of the difficult work, as she usually does.” 

Sahri nudges her. “Keeping the cook company is also an important task.” Shrugging, Y’shtola stifles a small laugh.

“If you so insist.” 

Sahri notices one of the children has approached her, reaching her hand into the basket of prahok. She quickly pulls it away and holds it above the children’s reach, waving her finger. 

“No, no. This will be orderly,” she gently scolds. “I tailored each to your preferences, after all. Line up and tell me which meat you ordered, and I’ll gladly hand it over to you.” She smiles. “Each of you can take a sweet roll from Master Matoya, as well!”

The children cheer in delight, quickly scrambling to form a line before Sahri. One by one, she hands them their meal--the hume boy she’d played with ecstatic to see his request for raptor fulfilled--and Y’shtola smiles at them as she holds out her own basket. More than once, the children sneakily attempt to take multiple, but the woman swiftly bats their hands away. When the children are finished, Sahri hands Wrendia her own meal before backing away to behold the scene with glee. However satisfying cooking--or crafting, for that matter--was on its own merits, Sahri’s greatest joy was in beholding the smiling faces of those enjoying the fruits of her labor.

“What should we all tell Lady Lukah and Master Matoya, young ones?” Wrendia prompts. The children let out a “thank you” in chorus. 

“Miss Wrendia!” the same hume boy calls out. “We should have Lady Lukah help with our class! Don’t you think? I bet she could teach us tons! Right, Lady Lukah?” Thankfully, Sahri does not have to formulate a polite way to turn him down. Y’shtola wraps her arm around Sahri’s waist, pulling her close.

“I’m afraid she is unable,” Y’shtola tells the boy. “It may come as a shock, but Lukah is still a student, herself--mine, to be exact.” The children murmur to each other in surprise. “While I have no doubt she would make a fine instructor, she must focus on her own studies. To that end, we should be off.” 

Sahri gives the children a wave. “She’s right, unfortunately. Please, enjoy your meals, everyone!” She and Y’shtola turn back towards their home, and as they begin to walk, Sahri speaks in a low voice. “Thanks for the save.”

Y’shtola smiles. “Any time.” She glances downwards towards the basket Sahri still carries. “I cannot help but notice there is quite a large amount of prahok left over. Is that all meant for you?” Sahri shakes her head.

“A...few are, admittedly, but I also prepared one for you--and used leftover ingredients to make a couple more on top of that. I thought we might pass them out to those who’d neglected lunch.” 

“How thoughtful. Then we shall--”

“Master--Master Matoya!” A deep voice interrupts her, and the two women turn to see Runar scurrying in their direction--clearly attempting (and failing) to hide his distress. When he reaches them, he begins again. “Master Matoya, we must spea--” He stops himself after looking towards Sahri, apparently only just noticing her. His eyes grow wide.

“Speak, then, Runar,” Y’shtola commands. The man scratches his cheek nervously, looking at her and back to Sahri. 

“I...apologize,” he says, hesitantly. “Lady Lukah, might I discuss this matter privately with Master Matoya?”

“Oh.” Secrets. Sahri feels a pit form in her stomach. She turns towards Y’shtola, awaiting her cue. “Um…” Y’shtola sighs, but gives Sahri a reassuring smile.

“Go ahead, then, Lukah.” She takes the basket of prahok from Sahri’s hands. “Runar and I will ensure the remainder of this meal finds its way into wanting hands, and afterwards I shall rejoin you.” Sahri frowns, hesitating, but at Y’shtola’s nod she acquiesces. 

“Very well. Take care, you two.” 

Sahri gives them a weak wave, lingering for one last moment before she makes her way back to her and Y’shtola’s home. When she closes the door behind her, she leans back against it and lets out a deep sigh. It was likely nothing, she tells herself. Some minor matters of village management, guarded by tradition. Yet her mind whirs with the possibilities. Sahri folds her arms and begins pacing back and forth through the room. Y’shtola would rejoin her momentarily, she knows, but she was feeling unusually impatient. 

As she continues pacing, her attention latches onto a bag in the room’s corner. One of hers, one that she’d hardly touched since settling into Slitherbough. It contained miscellaneous items and knick-knacks from the First and the Source both. ...Including…

No. No, no. None of that. None of him. She wasn’t entirely certain why she’d brought them to Slitherbough in the first place, but she would not let him encroach on the happiness she’d found here. Sahri closes her eyes and turns away. Lukah. She was Lukah, living a hard-working but pleasant life among the Night’s Blessed. She was...She was……..

_ “Why are you trying so hard to forget? _ ” 

Sahri dashes towards the bag, falling to her knees and rustling frantically through its contents. Near the bottom, she finds them--pulling them out, hanging them on her finger to gaze upon. They were the most beautiful pair of earrings she’d ever seen, possessing a strange tingle of connection to the touch. Never had she been so enchanted by intertwined purple and gold. Well, it looked like gold, at least--Sahri could not be certain of the metal. They had the shape of arrows piercing through shields of violet, and something about it resonates deep inside of her…

_ “These ring a bell?” _

_ “Those...are mine. Aren’t they?”  _

_ “Are they? Then take them.”  _

“I’ve returned, Lukah.” Sahri jumps when she hears the door open, shoving the earrings back into her bag and scrambling to her feet. Mercifully, Y’shtola’s entry had been slow enough that she did not notice. 

“W-Welcome back, Toya.” As she attempts to gather herself, Y’shtola holds out a basket. 

“I’ve succeeded in ridding ourselves of the remaining prahok.” She smiles. “Aside from my own, and these ones filled with mushrooms--which I must presume are yours.” 

“Ah…” Sahri nods. “Yes, that’s right.” Y’shtola holds one out to her, but Sahri shakes her head. She was not feeling particularly hungry, at the moment. “Put them aside for now. I’ll avail myself later.”

“Hmm...Alright.” Y’shtola scrutinizes her. Sahri may as well ask.

“So, what was that about?” She watches Y’shtola shake her head with a sigh, massaging her temples. 

“That was Runar’s misguided attempt to spare you a disturbance,” Y’shtola explains. “Which I imagine had quite the opposite effect.” She crosses her arms, wearing a grave expression. “It would seem one of our patrolmen spotted a few Children poking their noses through our part of the Greatwood.” Ah...The Children of the Everlasting Dark. Radical rival faction of the Blessed, possessing a strong affinity for poison. Sahri rests her chin on her hand.

“They’re still active?” she asks. “I was under the impression they had retreated, alongside Eulmore.” Y’shtola gives her a nod.

“Aye, we’ve seen nary a hint of activity from them since the night returned. Though Woven Oath’s population never significantly dwindled.” She pauses. “We cannot be certain if this is a sign of renewed coordination against us or simply a few of their youth growing restless. There is one thing we’ve learned, though...They’ve seemed to have caught wind of your presence in Slitherbough.”

Sahri’s eyes grow wide. “W...What? How?” 

“I cannot say I know,” Y’shtola admits. “Perhaps they noticed your arrival with the Exarch. Or one of them spotted you while you hunted, gathered supplies. More concerning would be them having a source of information within Slitherbough...The possibility of which I will investigate posthaste.” She taps her cheek. “Regardless, I’m certain the knowledge that the Warrior of Darkness resides in Slitherbough frustrates the Children to no end. In tandem with the night’s return, it is a complete refutation of their ideology.” 

“Why must men cling to their misbegotten faith, even when the truth stares them in the eyes?” Sahri sighs. She knew Y’shtola remembered the near-disaster Vidofnir averted in Ishgard, not long after Thordan’s fall. “...Am I…?” she begins to ask. “Am I a danger to the village, staying here?” The thought twists Sahri’s stomach in knots, but Y’shtola shakes her head.

“No, no,” she reassures. “Trust me when I say that if they had designs on Slitherbough, they would follow them through whether you were here or not. In fact, your presence may well serve as a deterrent--and you would be a boon to any defense we may need to mount.” Y’shtola closes the gap between her and Sahri, placing a comforting hand on her cheek and giving her lips a peck. “Do not dwell on it overmuch. Slitherbough is well prepared for whatever the Children are planning. And there is still a high chance the answer is ‘nothing.’”

Sahri leans into her touch. “I’ll...do my best.” Y’shtola smiles.

“Thank you.” The woman pulls back from Sahri, walking to take a seat at the room’s long table. She gestures for Sahri to sit across from her. “Now, it is high time the two of us set to work.” Sahri smiles. Ah...Finally, something familiar.

“It is indeed,” Sahri tells her, sitting and rummaging through the books on the table. “Shall we continue our discussion of aetherial decay, then? I believe you were about to introduce me to another one of the Sharlyans’ magnificent equations.” Y’shtola laughs, but to Sahri’s confusion shakes her head. She slides the books before them aside. 

“I...had something else in mind for today. Trust we will continue that conversation at a later time.” Her face turns serious. Sahri’s heart begins to stutter out of time. “In truth, I’ve wished to discuss this since the day you arrived, but after learning of your condition I thought to give you a break. Yet we cannot avoid the topic forever. I’d hoped to put our heads together to make sense of all we learned from Emet-Selch.”

“ _ Hades _ ,” Sahri corrects, before even processing what Y’shtola had said. When she does, her blood runs cold. Y’shtola regards her quizzically. 

“...Yes,” Y’shtola continues. “Hades, Emet-Selch, whatever one may call him. All that he showed us in the Qitana Ravel, and then in Amaurot--” Sahri winces. Her heart catches in her throat. “--I was hesitant, at first, to believe him. But the detail he put on display would be difficult indeed to fake, and the ruins in the Tempest provide ample evidence for Amaurot’s previous existence. If he had wished to lead us astray with lies, there were much more advantageous ones he could have told. No, he seemed much like a man with nothing to lose. While we must still scrutinize his every claim, we need seriously consider the possibility of their truth. I trust you share my assessment?” 

“I-I…” Sahri cannot meet the woman’s eyes, hugging her arms close to her body. This wasn’t...This wasn’t...Her eyes lock on the candles in the room’s corner. She watches with horror as their flames turn to an aggressive, all-encompassing orange, growing and forming into one large blaze. Oh, gods...A scent filled her nose. The smell of ashes. Ghastly cinders, the charred remains of wood, of beasts, of bone, of--

“Sahri.” Y’shtola’s hushed, soothing voice catches her attention. The woman tugs one of Sahri’s arms to rest on the table, tangling their fingers together. Sahri’s heart slows at the sensation of soft skin against soft skin. “I know those revelations were pertinent to you, most of all. And it is beyond evident how they terrify you.” Y’shtola squeezes her hand. “But you can and must face them. Remember that you do not have to do so on your own.” She smiles at Sahri. “I forbid you from carrying your burdens alone. That was true when the light yet corrupted your soul, and it is true now. Please, speak your mind.” 

Sahri looks into Y’shtola’s eyes, feeling a pulse of warmth. She...She wants to. She desperately wants to. But how could she? How could Y’shtola possibly understand? ...Unless...was it possible…?

“...Shtola.” Sahri’s voice trembles. “In...In…” She cannot even bring herself to say its name. “In the city which Hades conjured, did...aught seem familiar to you?” Y’shtola quirks an eyebrow.

“Familiar? In what sense?” 

“As if...” Sahri tries to explain. “As if...you recognized it. As if you’d been there before?” To Sahri’s profound dismay, Y’shtola continues to look at her blankly. 

“It...was an awe-inspiring view into the past, to be certain,” Y’shtola tells her. “And it contained fascinating reflections of our own present day. But...personal familiarity? No, I cannot say I experienced that.” Sahri’s gaze casts downwards. Of...Of course she wouldn’t...It had been foolish to hope. She was alone. She was alone…

“Why?” Y’shtola asks. “Did you find it familiar?” Sahri cannot find the words to answer, nor can she look up. But she can imagine Y’shtola furrowing her brow. “...I take it this means you do, indeed, believe Emet-Selch’s claims?”  _ Hades _ , her mind blares once more, but she restrains herself from saying.

“I…” Sahri sighs with sorrow. “...I don’t know. I don’t know what to believe,” she lies. Y’shtola directs her head back upwards, frowning intently and closely analyzing her. 

“...Perhaps it would help if we spoke more specifically,” the woman tries. “Of all he told us, what lingers most in my mind is his tale of two primals. Especially She who was responsible for sundering the world--”

“ _ Hydaelyn, _ ” a voice hisses. 

…..Not his voice. No. This time, it is Sahri’s own. 

Y’shtola’s jaw falls slack in surprise. She...she looks almost frightened. 

“...That…” Y’shtola attempts to regain her composure. “I’ve heard none but the Ascians refer to Her name with such venom.” 

Sahri yanks her hand away from Y’shtola’s, abruptly standing and walking a few steps from the table--back turned to the other woman. She clutches her head in her hands. 

“This isn’t working, Y’shtola,” she states plainly. She hears a chair skid back across the floor--presumably the woman has moved to stand herself.

“And why not?” she asks, consternation in her tone. “Is this about your relationship with Emet-Selch?”

Every inch of Sahri’s body goes stiff. She whips around, eyes widening in shock. Y’shtola’s words echo through her mind…  _ “You can be subtle in many emotions, but not in love. Never in love.” _ She staggers a few steps backwards.

“My...My…”

“Yes, I was aware,” she explains. “You must remember my aethersight can pierce thin walls--and wherever you wandered, you two were the most powerful sources of aether for malms around. It would be difficult to miss such overwhelming light and darkness in close proximity.” She’d...she’d been careless.

“...Does everyone know?” Sahri asks, breathless. Y’shtola firmly shakes her head.

“No, I do not believe so. I may well have missed the signs myself, had I not been able to see you together.” That...was a small relief, at least. And yet… “Lest you fear--while I cannot claim to understand your choice in partner, I did not and continue to not begrudge you for it. I placed my trust in you, and I was right to. After all...You did what needed to be done, in the end.” 

Sahri sees it in a flash. His face. His dying face. His dying smile. The dying smile of...of…

“ _ My love.” _

She weeps, sinking into a pit of despair. Ah, but what was this despair, compared to his oblivion? Nothing. Absolutely infinitesimal. Y’shtola quickly moves to comfort her, hugging Sahri to her shoulder, but she is inconsolable. The tears would not stop--they had waited millenia to fall.

“I--I did not realize...Perhaps this was a mistake.” Y’shtola chews her lip. “...We are not abandoning this conversation, but...let us reconsider how to approach it another day.” She rubs Sahri’s back, and the woman’s tears intensify. “...The Exarch did not exaggerate. I am here, moonbeam. Let us find a space more private.” 

Y’shtola leads Sahri to their shared bedroom, laying her love down on their bed. Sahri hugs herself and continues to cry, and Y’shtola takes position behind her. She says nothing, only holds her, pets her hair as the woman works through her tears. Every stroke of her hair begets the slightest fade of his image, the slightest silencing of his voice... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the kids in this chapter off of the nameless NPC children playing in Slitherbough's northern cave! I'd have come up with names for them all if I knew what naming conventions were like in the First, though I go ahead and do so anyway for the girl in later chapters


	10. One Brings the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is a monster, and she will always be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual events of the DRK quests are not "canon" to Sahri, but the emotions inherent and what they reveal about the WoL's psyche _certainly_ are.
> 
> Very brief emetophobia content warning, btw.

Flickering blue candlelight mimicked the gentle morning light that surely glowed outside the dwelling’s doors. Sahri and Y’shtola sit in a shared, contented quiet, only the turning of pages and the carving of soft wood filling the silence. Sahri had opted to stay in this morning, setting her mind to carpentry as Y’shtola researched. This was bliss, a delightfully comfortable bliss. Over a week had passed since the two’s ill-fated talk about Emet-Selch, and Y’shtola had not broached the topic since. Sahri managed to push the day’s events from her mind, and she dared say she almost felt normal again--her life as Lukah continuing apace.

“I cannot help but be curious--what is it you’re carving, moonbeam?” Y’shtola breaks their quiet, lazily leaning on an arm and smiling at Sahri. She beams at her.

“A statuette,” Sahri tells her. 

“A statuette?” Y’shtola’s eyes light up. “Of what, might I ask?”

“Hmmm…” Sahri considers the piece of wood she’d taken a knife to. Still in an early phase, the carved shape was indistinct. “...I’ve not decided yet, admittedly. Perhaps I’ll make it some local variety of fauna.” 

“Mmm...You ever did have an impressive respect for the natural world. You’ll have to let me know once it’s finished.” 

“Of course.” With that, Y’shtola turns back to her book.

Whatever this piece of wood became, Sahri had thought to gift it to Y’shtola. The woman may not be able to make out all of the finer details, but Sahri planned to infuse it with a bit of her own aether. She still remembered fondly when Y’shtola had asked her to fill Toddia’s heartstone with her aether for “good luck.” Perhaps that would make this something of a good luck charm. It was a simple gift, to be certain. If she had readier access to her usual supply of materials, she’d likely be making the woman a piece of jewelry, even an article of clothing. Yet it was wood they possessed in abundance in Rak’tika--and Sahri knew the best materials were those close at hand. 

The peaceful quiet carries ever onwards, and Sahri quickly loses track of time. She reaches a point where she really must decide what direction to take with the statuette, so she stares at it, pondering. She drums her fingers against her chin in thought, but before she’s able to settle on a concept, the deafening creak of the front door being slammed open slices through the women’s contentment. 

“M-Master Matoya! Lady Lukah!” Runar is in a panic, and both women immediately stand to meet him. “There...we have an emergency situation!”

“Speak, Runar,” Y’shtola commands. “Make every word count.” Runar gathers himself. 

“Yes, of course. Several...Several members of the Children of the Everlasting Dark managed to elude our patrols, and they now stand before the entrance to Slitherbough. They...They are demanding to meet with the Warrior of Darkness.” 

“No…” Sahri reels in shock. Damn it all. She should have known. She should have known this would happen…She brought danger to every doorstep she resided. Y’shtola swears under her breath.

“And are they armed?” Y’shtola asks. Runar simply nods. “...Of course they are. The zealots have a poison-dipped dagger stashed in every pocket. At the very least, if they managed to slip past our every patrolman, their group cannot be large. Perhaps the situation can be defused with words.”

“I...I can only hope,” says Runar. Sahri remains quiet, searing a hole into the floor with her gaze.

“Still, we would be foolish not to arm ourselves. Lukah.” Hearing her adopted name jolts Sahri to attention. “Take your staff in hand, but pray do not use it unless the situation absolutely demands so.”

“R...Right. Let’s hurry, Toya.” 

In a matter of minutes, the three find themselves at Slitherbough’s front cave entrance. Surely enough, there stood five hooded figures, armed with a variety of weapons--though all currently sheathed. Sahri scans the environment behind them, as well as the trees above, but sees nothing out of place. Hmm...They had not brought backup, then.

“They look young,” Sahri tells Y’shtola in a hushed voice. All adults, as far as she could tell, but some just barely seemed to have cleared childhood. Y’shtola nods, immediately grasping the situation. Their youth likely meant they were inexperienced--yet youthful impulse could manifest a most terrifying foe on the field of battle.

“I take it you five are not official representatives of Woven Oath?” Y’shtola asks. Each of the Children’s eyes turns to the towering drahn man standing at their center. 

“You--You are Matoya. The outsider that the feeble-minded denizens of Slitherbough took as their leader.” His bluster reminds Sahri of Magnai, and that is not a flattering comparison. His eyes turn towards her. “Then that makes you the so-called Warrior of Darkness.” 

Sahri’s gaze is steely. “Yes. I am.” 

“Pitiful.” He shakes his head. “First, they accept an outsider as their leader, and now they praise a little girl--the frailest of mystel--as their  _ Warrior of Darkness _ ? It would be laughable if it were not so deeply blasphemous.” The other Children murmur to each other in agreement. “We came to investigate rumors that our weak-willed leadership is too paralyzed to pursue. Thankfully, it seems we already have our answer. Whoever the Warrior of Darkness may be, he does not reside in Rak’tika--and certainly not in Slitherbough.” 

“She is the Warrior of Darkness, and the truest hero I have ever known!” Runar growls. “She has allowed us to witness the sunless sea as our ancestors did--she has banished the sin eaters not only from the Greatwood, but all of Norvrandt! And you have the gall to stand here and belittle her? She has fulfilled what we’ve prayed for years to have!” He seems poised to continue, but Sahri holds out an arm to him and shakes her head.

“Save your rage, Runar.” She looks the young drahn man directly in the eyes, unflinching, and she’s sure she sees a momentary glimmer of fright. “I do not much care who or what you think I am. What I  _ am _ concerned about is you all leaving Slitherbough and not returning. You have your answer, don’t you? Surely, you’re satisfied. Go now, and we can both walk away unharmed.” To her relief, the Children look among themselves, and even the drahn man is deep in thought--were they seriously considering the offer? 

“Wait--Wait a second! That’s why I recognize you!” The young woman standing at their far end points directly at Sahri. “Guys, she’s--she’s the one! The one who raided Woven Oath so Matoya could get into The Womb!” Sahri’s heart sinks at the expressions of disgust and sorrow that sweep over the Children’s faces.

“You’re--Does she tell the truth?” The young drahn man bursts into fury. “You’re that demon of the light?!” Sahri fights a shudder at the title, but stands firm. There goes that chance. Apparently, her silence served as confirmation enough. He clenches his fists, so hard his knuckles begin to turn white. They are shaking.

“You--do you know how many of our finest we lost that day? The men and women you slaughtered?!” Focus, Sahri reminds herself, willing her every emotion to numbness. Adrenaline begins to course through her. “You and your foul light killed my sister!” he cries, voice choked with emotion.

“And my father!” the young man next to him shouts through tears.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sahri sees the young woman who identified her take hold of her bow, reaching for an arrow. No doubt the arrow’s tip was laced with some infernal poison for which it would be impossible to deduce the antidote in time to save its victim. This was not the day Sahri died, and it was  _ certainly _ not the day Y’shtola or Runar died, either. Sahri snatches her staff, and channeling aether through Shiva’s conduit, she wills the earth to throw the woman off balance.

Instead, she manifests a burst of light, one with a harsh glare. The woman drops her weapon and falls limply to the ground. Was she dead, or simply unconscious? She didn’t care, Sahri reminded herself. That wasn’t for her to know.

“D...Damn you!” The rest of the Children clamor for their weapons, but Sahri is faster. She hits them all with a burst of Holy, sending them flying to their backs in a row, momentarily stunned. She steps on the drahn man’s chest, baring her teeth as she pins him down. She points her staff at him as if it was a melee weapon, charging it with another burst of light that threatened to fire. 

“Listen closely,” Sahri commands, the man melting into terror under her furious gaze. The younger man laying next to him reaches for his spear and raises it. Weak. Sahri seizes it with her free hand and stabs it into his leg, earning a scream. None of the others dare reach for their own weapons after that. Her gaze has not shifted from the man she looms over.

“I said--Listen closely, you little shites.” The man is sweating bullets. “You will take your sorry arses back to Woven Oath. You will not return to Slitherbough. Ever. Are we clear?”

“Sh...She-devil!” the man spits at her. “I would give my life a hundred times in service of your defeat before I fled like a coward!” He was going to make this difficult, then. She leans more of her weight onto his chest, bringing her staff mere inches from his face. 

“You said I killed your finest?” Wings of Temperance fly from behind her, their gleam multiplying the size of her figure. “Then I could kill the rest of you. And I will, if you harm a single hair on the head of any of the Blessed. All of Woven Oath will know my fury. Mark my words. Tell that to your paralyzed leaders.” The man is crying, now. 

“P-Please...Please listen to her!” another young woman with the group begs of the man. “We...we need to get these two to our clerics, and…” She shakes her head, not wanting to put voice to the end of her thought. “P-Please! Accept her terms!” Sahri swears she can see the physical act of the man swallowing his pride.

“...F-Fine. Fine!” he exclaims. At his acceptance, Sahri pushes off of him with a kick. The man scrambles to his feet, and the three Children still standing quickly pick their friends from the forest floor. They are frantic to flee, but before he disappears, the drahn man stops one last time. 

“You...you are a monstrosity, a sorceress of the light. You are light’s finest slave! And you dare to call yourself the  _ Warrior of Darkness? _ ” He turns back, teeth bared, and yells. “Do not mock us!”

And so he scampers off, fading into the foliage. Sahri hears the sound of weapons being put away behind her, and returns her own to her back. 

“That...was excessive,” Y’shtola chides as she walks beside Sahri, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But I suppose it accomplished what we needed. We can only hope Woven Oath does not take your words as a declaration of war…”

The adrenaline starts to fade from Sahri’s body, the full weight of what she’d just done sinking in. She turns her palms out before her, staring down at them. “ _ Sorceress of the Light, _ ” she hears. “ _ Light’s finest slave. _ ” 

“That...was quite the performance you put on for them, Lady Lukah!” Runar bellows. A...performance… “You even had me terrified! Truly, I had no idea just how intimidating you could be…”

“Oh, yes,” Y’shtola laughs. “Do not let her gentle exterior fool you. Lukah is an imposing woman when she wishes to be.” 

Sahri’s hands shake. Her light….Her light. Her light had torn families apart. Her light killed. Her light threatened to kill more. Her heart races. Killer, she was a killer! Killer in the name of the light! Her light, Hydaelyn’s light, her own light…!

“...Lukah?” Y’shtola gives her shoulder a light shake. “Can...you hear me, Lukah?”

Her hands glow bright. There it was--there it was! Life’s aether...She could see it all around her, and she was to devour it. To turn all to light with her touch. That was her will, that was her purpose, she…! The light was on the verge of consuming her!

“Lukah!” Y’shtola shakes her shoulder more firmly, and Runar looks on with increasing concern.

Sorceress of the light. Light’s finest slave. Hydaelyn’s blessed, the Warrior of Light! No, she’d grown complacent! She...She...every nerve in Sahri’s body was alight. Her shakes turn violent. No, no! She couldn’t...she couldn’t become a Lightwarden, not so near Slitherbough! The death, oh gods, the death!

“ _ When it all becomes too much to bear, seek me out at my abode, in the dark depths of--” _

Sahri tears herself from Y’shtola’s grip and bolts, sprinting in the exact opposite direction the Children fled. She runs, and runs, and runs, panting and gasping for breath. Charred ruins of civilization blur into view--the remains of Fort Gohn. Sahri stops dead in her tracks and falls to her knees, looking on in horror as the remaining structures shoot into the sky, sleek and black. The trees around them shift to match. Aflame...it’s all aflame. Her home...oh, her home...Her people run through the streets, screaming, falling limp to the ground and taking their final breaths...And she is frozen in place, can but watch on. This...the flame, the beasts tearing Amaurot apart...Oppressive light streaking through, mass of blue crystal rising behind, threatening to tear it apart…! Oh, her terrible onslaught..!

“You claim this as your home, yet you cannot keep in order the two distinct calamities that befell it? It is enough to bring a tear to the eye, gazing upon you. You, the pathetic refuse of a great woman long dead.” 

One of the limp bodies in the streets stirs, rising to its feet and swerving straight towards her. It approaches, slowly, methodically, with a swagger, sneer growing on its face as it comes closer to Sahri. Its form twists, shrinks into a “he,” golden eyes staring her down as he inexorably walks forward. An inferno roars behind him. Sahri’s mouth falls agape, and everything quakes--her body, her world. It is him, the ghost who has invaded her mind. Her enemy. Her love. Her…

“Hades…” she gasps, quietly. 

“Oh, so you haven’t forgotten my name,  _ my love _ ?” he taunts. He stands before Sahri now, looming over her before taking a knee. “Not for a lack of effort.” He does not break his gaze into her eyes. That fiery gaze was everything to Sahri, all-consuming. Gladly did she surrender her soul to him every time her heart faded to winter. 

As he looks at her, his smile fades, expression turning sour. Hades sighs.

“It was a simple request, was it not?” In addition to sorrow, his voice carries...disappointment. “One, final request with my dying gasp. To remember.” Sahri’s eyes fly wide open. Hades takes her hand into his, looking upon it mournfully. “To remember us. To remember that we once lived. You even told me you  _ wanted _ to remember.” He drops her hand to the ground, turning his eyes back up towards hers. “And how do you honor that? By trying to forget at every turn!” 

Sahri’s mind races. He...He was right. He was right! The instant he’d faded, Sahri had pushed him from her mind’s eye. It was too painful, she’d said, thinking only of herself. That was why she’d run away to Slitherbough, hoping to leave him behind with her past. But she could not escape it--a name could not protect her. “Lukah” was no truer a mask for her than “Sahri.” Both obscured the name she could not remember. The name by which her love knew her. 

What...What had she done? Gods, what had she done? All that remained of the dead were fleeting recollections, recollections that would be lost to time, to the abyss ere long. She’d sworn to herself, after Haurchefant died, that she would carry on his memory--the memory of all whom she’d loved, all whom she’d lost. In his last moments, her truest love of all had asked just that of her--to remember. And she’d smiled, and nodded, and begun to sear his face from her memory the second he no longer had eyes with which to see her betrayal! 

“I’m...I’m sorry…!” Tears flood down her face. “I’m sorry, Hades, I’m sorry...I-I won’t forget anymore. I won’t. I do want to remember. I’ll remember you. I’ll remember you! Please, help me remember…!” Her frantic declarations sound more like pleading. Hades scoffs, rising to his feet.

“Look at you grovel. It’s unsightly.” He shakes his head. “It is far too late now, I fear. You are her puppet. The puppet of she who unraveled civilization. Hydaelyn has staked her claim on you, and her light’s stain will ensure you never remember.” He sighs deeply, gaze welling with pity. “Even now, you do her bidding. I gave you a chance to free yourself from the light, yet it threatens to consume you once more.”

Sahri looks down at herself, and finds her body swirling with light--every inch slowly being enveloped. “No...No!” she cries. “Hades, I don’t want this. I don’t want  _ her _ . Please, you must give me one more chance...Help me, my love, please…”

“Hmm. Let me consider it...No. No, I don’t think I will. I’ve already given you far more opportunities than you’ve deserved.” Hades turns his back to her, beginning to walk back into the flames.

“Wait...Hades, wait!” He raises an arm in farewell.

“You shan’t hear from me again. No, there is only one option left for you now.” He disappears into the fire, his last words echoing from just beyond it.

“Surrender to your fate, and let the transformation take you.”

Sahri clutches her head and shrieks. No--No, no, no. No, she felt it! The light, tearing her body to pieces…! Glass shattering, vision blurring at the edges…! There was no hope. No hope. No Ardbert to save her, this time. She was out of options. Surrender...It was all she could do to surrender…..

...A sweet tingle emerges from the recesses of her mind.

Of course! There...There was one last chance for her. One last chance. She needed to return to Slitherbough! She staggers to her feet, body heavy, and wills herself to run--but she makes no progress. Something...Something holds her wrist behind her. She turns back and sees an ivory white hand. The sin eater who’d turned Tesleen holds her in place, raising her sword to claim her for the light once and for all. 

“You...You won’t have me!” Sahri reaches for the staff at her back and fires a burst of light. As soon as her spell connects, there is a flash, and the figure morphs into that of Y’shtola. The woman is launched a short distance away, falling to her back. 

Sahri drops her staff, overtaken by full-body tremors. Shtola...Her Shtola...She’d pointed her light at her Shtola. She’d  _ hurt _ her Shtola. Sahri bends over and vomits, heaving light onto the forest floor. It...was so far along… The water was the only way. The only way to protect Shtola. Protect all she loved from herself...Now unimpeded, she takes off in a sprint. 

At her blistering pace, little time passes before Sahri reaches Slitherbough. She ignores the heads that turn her way as she tears through the village--No time, there was no time. By some miracle, she finds herself in front of a jug of holy water. She wastes no time splashing the water on herself, feeling immediate relief… ...Fleeting relief. Her heart does not slow, and her hands--they still burn with the light. She tries again. No change. Again. Again. These splashes weren’t helping...If anything, she was feeling even worse. No...No! Her vision blurs again. She needs more, and she needs it  _ now. _

Sahri falls to her knees, bowing her head before the basin. Her hands take a firm hold of the top, and with every remaining ounce of her strength, she pulls. Her sins wash away in a cascade of water.

……………………………………………………………………………..

“We’re here, Master Matoya.” 

Sahri’s spell had thrown her, to be certain, but Y’shtola was not so feeble as to be felled by a single blow. With Runar’s assistance, she’d made it back to Slitherbough. Immediately, she notices a mass gathering of souls in one of its caves. ...A very particular cave, one that Sahri always found her way back to. 

“There.”

She and Runar make their way through the crowd, nearly all of Slitherbough gathered in this narrow entryway. There, in the middle of the room, Sahri sits, hunched on the ground. The compact state of her aether suggests she is hugging herself. Faintly, she hears weeping.

“...’s not working… It’s not working...Danger, I’m…”

Y’shtola thought she’d witnessed the woman’s lowest points, but never had she heard her voice so weak. Despair wells in her chest, yet she refuses to hesitate. Upon closer examination, Sahri--and the floor around her--were drenched in water with the slightest dark aspect. Yes, that was a basin turned on its side behind her. And...the poor girl was shivering. 

“Master Matoya,” a voice whispers. Y’shtola turns to find Wrendia beside her. “We’ve tried talking to her, but she won’t respond coherently. Should we prepare a bed for her in the infirmary? I do not know how your confrontation with the Children unfolded, but I fear one of their nastier poisons may have hit true.” 

Y’shtola turns her head back towards Sahri. “Poison…” The proud woman continues to weep, curled into the smallest form she can find. “You...could say one afflicts her. Allow me to handle this situation, for now.” She turns to the crowd. “Slitherbough--we are no longer under threat from the Children. I have matters in hand, here. Please, all of you--go back to your usual business.” There is chatter, but slowly, she sees the mass of aether slowly retreat. She turns to the man still standing next to her. “That includes you, Runar.” 

“But...But Master Matoya! I cannot. You are injured!” he protests. Y’shtola crosses her arms and scowls. 

“It is no more than a few bruises, and perhaps a blemish to my pride. Allow Lukah and I a moment of privacy.” 

Unable to argue, Runar silently nods, making his way out of the cave. Soon, only she and Sahri remain within. She makes haste to the woman’s side, able to see her shuddering with more intensity at the closer distance. Her face fills with sorrow. She no longer heard weeping, but the woman was still muttering to herself.

“Moonbeam,” she says quietly. Apparently Sahri heard her, because she jumps--the woman is looking up at her, now, she realizes. 

“Sh-Shtola...No. N-No, you...have to run…” Sahri tells her in a low voice. “I’ll...hurt you again…” 

Y’shtola huffs. “You’re not hurting much anyone like this.” She pulls the woman to her feet, feeling for the first time the sheer volume of water that had soaked into her robe. She needed to get her out of this, else her temperature drop to concerning levels. She slings Sahri’s arm around her shoulders, shivering at the cool feeling on her bare back, and attempts to lead her. She finds no resistance, thankfully. 

“Shtola…” Sahri repeats, voice drained of every ounce of energy--of life. 

“Come, now. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's Part 2! Part 3 is the final segment, and rest assured Sahri will finally start to get some resolution for some of the issues the fic has raised thus far. That does not come without more pain, though, making her suffer is too fun


	11. Riding Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her yearning to remember reveals a rare side of Sahri to Emet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #  **Part 3: Giving the Night Form**

_ “Not today?” Sahri does not attempt to hide her frustration as she and Thancred move away to grant Minfilia and Urianger a modicum of privacy. Twine was not a large town, but there were enough buildings to hide oneself behind. “Then when, Thancred? She is hurting...”  _

_ “...Soon,” is all Thancred tells her. Sahri grits her teeth. She could see in the man’s face he had come to some sort of resolution. What that was, it would likely be impossible to pry from him. She sighs. He didn’t owe her that, of course. She didn’t share with him the secret resolutions weighing on her own soul.  _

_ Aside from a heated moment in Il Mheg--a pointed question, “How do you want this to end?”--she had not much challenged him on the topic of Minfilia. Well...Their old Minfilia. Thancred had been keen to pick up where they left off in the Source, and Sahri’s numb despair had driven her back into his arms. How easy it was, to slip back into their old relationship--fuck in place of thinking. In place of feeling. Needless to say, the subject of their Minfilia was verboten between them--newly torn open by the First, that wound was much too raw. Sahri felt ashamed of it, now...No. She’d felt ashamed of it from the beginning, knowing how Thancred’s attitude spurred the girl Minfilia’s self-hatred. It was only now she’d built up enough resolve to want to face it--thanks in no small part to Y’shtola helping her pull herself back together.  _

_...Come to think of it...Perhaps Thancred was ready to face it, as well. After all, he’d brought up the subject of Minfilia during their search for the leonine--called her “our Minfilia” in a way that made her heart stir. An unusually tender moment for the two of them...and perhaps the first time they’d shared a genuine connection in the First, beyond the comfort of skin. She decides to take the chance to push the subject further. _

_ “...I will hold you to it,” Sahri tells him. “Minfilia deserves better...from the both of us.” Thancred’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. “It’s painful--terribly painful. To have the possibility to return the woman we both love to life dangled in front of us. But the cost is too steep.” Sahri takes a breath to prepare. This will be as much a declaration for herself as it is for him. “Ultimately, it is her choice. But...I’ve decided how I want this to end.” She looks the man in his eyes. “I want this girl to live her own life, as herself. Not Minfilia or anyone else.” _

_ Thancred is visibly stunned at her sudden frankness. Yet, before long...A smile creeps onto his face. _

_ “That you would come to so firm a conclusion in your short time since meeting the girl...” He gives a small laugh. “It demonstrates well why she loved you so dearly.”  _

_ “Thancred…” Sahri’s cheeks warm. That was...an unexpected reaction. _

_ “I find myself wishing I possessed your certainty of conviction,” he says, looking off into the distance. Sahri smiles. She takes a step forward, delicately placing a hand on his chest. _

_ “You have it in you. I know you do.” The two stare fondly into each other’s eyes. Given their significant difference in stature, Sahri has to crane her neck, but she does not mind. She did always like her men tall. ...Not that she should go deluding herself into thinking Thancred regarded her as had Aymeric or Haurchefant.  _

_ “Let us pray I prove your confidence justified.”  _

_ Sahri knew she should not be getting distracted, but this was such a rare moment for the two--part of her wanted to pursue this strand of emotion, see where it led. Unfortunately, her body had other plans. She feels a small tingle in her throat before light slams against the inside of her chest, desperate to break free of its prison. The tingle grows unbearable, and she cannot restrain a cough, then another. Gods damn it all, she did not want a repeat of the coughing fit that had earlier set her laying half-conscious against Thancred’s chest. Y’shtola’s “treatment” was clearly on its last legs. At least they were not surrounded by monsters, this time… _

_ “Bloody hells, not again.” Thancred’s face falls in an instant, and he quickly moves his arms to her back to support her. Sahri’s body is seized by this affliction, and after a particularly harsh cough, Sahri sees she’s splattered a few droplets on Thancred’s shirt. ...Droplets of light. She subtly wipes them away before he notices. No...She would not allow this light to gain the upper hand. She swallows, tensing her body and willing the coughs to cease. To her shock...they actually do. She breathes a sigh of relief, standing up once again without having to lean on the man before her.  _

_ “I’m...I’m alright,” Sahri tells him, catching her breath. Thancred folds his arms. _

_ “Like hells you are. Of all the times for you to fall ill…” He shakes his head, sighing. “I would suggest you seek out a chirurgeon if we had but the time. We can ill afford these fits incapacing you in the midst of battle. What to do…” _

_ “Don’t worry about me. I’ve fought through far worse.” Thancred gives her a disapproving look. She...would have to cede some ground, wouldn’t she? “...When we reunite with the others, Y’shtola should be able to help me. I simply need to hold on until then.”  _

_ “Y’shtola? ...I suppose that’s fair enough.” She can sense the man had many questions, but he seems content to let them lie. “Until then, you mustn’t overexert yourself. Leave any foes we cross to me.” _

_ “Thancred, I can’t let you--” The man cuts her protest short. _

_ “No, none of that. You take far too great a burden on your shoulders as it is. Continue that now, and you’ll surely break.” He smiles at her confidently. “Perhaps I fall short of your caliber, but I am more than capable of holding my own. I’ve been the one drawing the brunt of our enemies’ abuse during our time together in the First, have I not?” _

_ Sahri smirks. “The amount of healing spells I’ve had to cast in your direction would suggest so.”  _

_ “Hazard of the job,” Thancred replies with an amused shrug. “I strive to protect those near and dear. So allow me to protect you, for once.” Ah...Sahri had to admit it felt nice to be the target of Thancred’s concern. If not a tad strange… _

_ “You’ve already saved my life on more than one ocassion, as I recall.” _

_ “And were it not for you, I would still be walking around as an Ascian’s slave. Please, Sahri.” _

_ How could she deny that sincerity? “...Very well.” Thancred beams.  _

_ “Wonderful. In the meantime…” Thancred glances towards Magnus and his men, who are beginning to test walking the talos around. Step by halting step. “I think I shall poke my head around the village and see if I can’t get my hands on some local cough remedy.”  _

_ “You--You really don’t have to go through the trouble,” Sahri stammers. _

_ “And yet, I shall. Take a moment to rest. I’ll return before long.” He waves, turning to walk away. _

_ “...Thancred.”  _

_ “Hm?” He turns back, and Sahri approaches. She takes his hand in hers, but can’t quite meet his eyes. _

_ “I...Thank you.” After a pause, he takes his hand from hers and ruffles her hair. _

_ “Of course, my friend.”  _

_ Sahri watches on as he leaves. She...she knew it was foolish to hope for more from him. Their relationship had been set in the same pattern for years, and the impressionable girl who’d nurtured a crush for the man in secret was long dead. Time and death had utterly broken them both. Still...In moments like this… _

_ “This rote pining makes my stomach churn. It truly does. And for the weakest link in your group, at that?” _

_ There was a voice Sahri hadn’t heard for a fair few days. One that caused her hair to stand on end and a smile to rise to her face all at once. If she was being completely honest with herself, she’d missed it. _

_ “There you are,” she says, turning to search for the voice’s source. “I was beginning to fear the concentrated weight of your conceit had finally snapped your spine.” She can imagine the grin he made at that. Sahri had learned the best way to combat Emet’s snark was to respond in kind. Learned through a truly shameful frequency of trysts, that was. She’d long since surrendered to how the man captivated her, in all his dubious charm. What to do with that captivation...was less clear. _

_ “Oh, how cheeky. No, but the weight of the boredom from your droll little romp through this wasteland might well have.” There. She hops down a small drop in the rock, finding the man leaning against the natural wall. Tucked out of sight from anyone who might wander the village, though remaining well within earshot. Emet smirks upon seeing her, and seemingly reading her thoughts, he raises his arm aloft and snaps his fingers. While Sahri witnessed no visible change in the environment, she could faintly sense the presence of a powerful glamour surrounding them. Likely combined with the silencing spell which had been quite helpful to maintaining their relationship’s secrecy.  _

_ Their relationship was not something Sahri was proud of, to be certain. The man was a toxic cesspool in which she indulged her worst urges. ...Is what she wanted to say, but in truth, emotions had leaked into the affair far more than she would have liked. (From both ends, though she doubted Emet would admit it.) This was different from Thancred...At least she now had an inkling as to why. Emet still played coy about any past relation between the two, but his “history lesson” at the Qitana Ravel gave her some hints. _

_ “And the worst part?” he’d said of the ancients who’d painted the murals. “No one could remember it. Not really. Just fragments and fleeting memories of an achingly familiar world…” Or an achingly familiar man, in her case. Their souls must have tangled in that old world, and how was not difficult to guess. That bit of knowledge should have brought her comfort...Instead, it intensified her yearning all the more. She wanted to know more about that world. About that life. About the man Emet had been before--and the woman she had been. And...most frustratingly distant of all, their names...Yet any memories she’d possessed, Hydaelyn had scattered across the cosmos. Hydaelyn...The primal, Hydaelyn… _

_ Emet’s voice breaks her from her thoughts.  _

_ “My, it was far easier than usual to tame that lip, today. This ‘illness’ must truly be getting the better of you.” He huffs to himself. “And to think, it will only grow more severe...I’m beginning to believe our dear hero won’t rise to the task at hand, after all.” _

_ “Believe what you want,” Sahri tells him, pretending his doubts don’t mirror her own. “I feel quite well. I was thinking. Nothing more.” _

_ “Eugh. Not about that boor, I hope.” The man scowls. He sounds genuinely annoyed--unsurprising, given how antagonistic Thancred had acted towards him at every turn. Still, Sahri can’t help but be amused. _

_ “Jealous?” Her tease draws forth a scoff. _

_ “What, exactly, is there to be jealous of?” A subtle deflection, she notes. “The man is driven by nothing more than his own fragile emotion, and their chaotic back-and-forth ensures he will never find a purpose. It’s little wonder Lahabrea targeted him to infiltrate your ranks.”  _

_ “He’s stronger than you give him credit for,” Sahri counters. _

_ “Oh, the number of times I’ve heard some woe-begotten woman make that claim...One age may fall to the next, but your kind never changes. Not truly.” He shakes his head with a hand upon his forehead before turning back to Sahri with a smile. “Speaking of men for which you hold undue affection, I just had a fascinating conversation with your dear, mendacious Exarch.” _

_ “...You did?” She’s surprised the man would have entertained such a talk...Shrouded in mystery as he was, Sahri had to admit she was curious. “And what, pray tell, did he say to you?”  _

_ “Hardly anything of worth. But enough.” Emet regards her smugly. “The man is possessed of a disgusting fondness for you.”  _

_ Sahri’s heart leaps. “He...is?” The warm memory of a basket of sandwiches floats into her mind. “I hadn’t noticed.” Emet shoots her an incredulous glare.  _

_ “...I would question your senses, but your resident sorceress proves that even blinded eyes could see as much.” He sighs. “That would make this a case of willful ignorance. What exactly is your relation to this man?”  _

_ Her relation to the Exarch...Sahri clutches her chest as more memories take her. Memories that, unlike the ones with which she’s been grappling, flow unbidden and free. The sound of his laugh…The curve of his smile...A smile that she knew slotted against hers oh so pleasantly. The halcyon days she’d known the youthful joy of a man’s arms wrapped around her, cherishing her for the first time. A man of deep and gentle red... _

_ “Woe betide me. I know that look.” Emet’s voice cuts through her reminiscing. “Even more insipid pining. You are so predictably hopeless.” Sahri frowns, opens her mouth to object, but he continues. “What exactly are your standards in a man? Have a pulse and not brandish a weapon at you?” A small laugh. “Though given your tastes, you might well enjoy that.”  _

_ What nerve this man had. She knew he was trying to get a rise out of her, but she found herself taking the bait. It never turned out well when she lost her composure around Emet. She’d best concede the point before her temper flares. _

_ “I would tell you how wrong you were,” she tells him, tone even, “but I suspect my words matter little.”  _

_ “Ah, forgive me. You’re correct, of course. I’ve terribly mischaracterized your pursuit of love.” He is smug, and Sahri raises an eyebrow. “After all, your pining is not limited to men alone. Isn’t that right, ‘moonbeam?’” _

_ Sahri bares her teeth with a hiss. “You do *not* get to call me that.” So much for that composure--How dare he? Just how closely had he been monitoring her? Emet lets out a deep sigh. _

_ “That woman has made you much less fun to play with. Perhaps I shouldn’t have plucked her from the Lifestream, after all.” Sahri’s glare intensifies. The man throws up his arms. “Case in point. That was clearly a jest! Is blandness another symptom of your ‘affliction,’ or have you lingered in this desert so long you’ve begun to adopt its traits?” _

_ Sahri’d had just about enough of this man. By which she means, she’s not had nearly enough of him--the true man he dances around revealing. A thespian to the end, but his bit wore thin. While Emet delighted in performing aloofness, she knew the truth--she’d witnessed it, in the throes of love. What she hid behind stoicism, a resolute determination, he hid behind wit--yet neither maintained a flawless act. Today, she would see his crumble once more. _

_ “It’s pitiful how little self-awareness you possess,” she tells him, folding her arms. _

_ “...Pardon?” The man seems intrigued by Sahri’s shift in attitude.  _

_ “You berate me for ‘pining,’ for daring to feel emotion towards other human beings. What would you see if you turned the mirror on yourself?” She takes a step closer towards Emet. Given he still leans against the rock wall, there is no room for him to widen the gap. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that Amh Araeng fails to capture your interest. Yet here you are. For me.” _

_ He smirks. “You presume I’m here for you?”  _

_ “I do.” Sahri’s voice is definitive. She spots the slightest twitch in his eye--that had caught him off guard. The first crack. His smile grows. _

_ “No room for doubt, then. Very well, I confess. You’re the only pearl that could draw me to this barren waste, hero.” His eyes narrow. “While Lahabrea’s choice of mark was far and away the most obvious, I’ve my curiosity piqued by a rather different prize.”  _

_ Sahri raises an eyebrow. “You believe you can win me to your side?” ...Hm. He...was being earnest, as far as she could tell. That...She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. _

_ “Who can say?” The man shrugs. “Regardless, I could not well allow you to miss me for long. You get terribly sensitive about that, as I recall.” _

_ “...I did miss you.” The confession sends a flash across Emet’s eyes. Another crack. Another step forward. “And I know you missed me. Mine is not the only heart which pines. After all...It’s you who always runs back to me. You, who seems to have investigated every facet of my personal life, while I know precious little of yours.” The man’s smile is rapidly fading. Step. Crack. Step. Crack. “Our every encounter is one you initiate. You would not be here if part of you did not care.” _

_ Emet scoffs. “Is that what you’ve convinced yourself?” His smile has completed its transformation to a scowl. “Allow me to relieve you of those misapprehensions. You are nothing. Hydaelyn’s scrap. A soul torn to shreds and fit with a collar. In spite of that, I’ve afforded you an opportunity to prove your worth to me. That you would mistake such generosity for pining, of all things, is but another indicator of the deep malformity that is your existence.”  _

_ Sahri doesn’t bother to stop the tears as she grits her teeth. She’s genuinely shocked at how painful a dagger his every word drove into her heart. His accusation of incompleteness rang hauntingly true. She wanted to fall to her knees and wail for a life far more whole than this. But...she would not cede her ground. His low tactics did not change the truth she’d seen with her own eyes. _

_ “Poor little hero and her poor little heart,” he coldly mocks her. “Reality can be harsh indeed. Do you fancy yourself in love with me? Please. You cannot even feel love. Only a half-baked simulacrum.” His eyes are consumed by a chilling flame, a tempest of anger and sorrow and fear. “I miss you? I care about you? I pine for you? No. I loathe you and your mockery of her--” A stumble. “Of life with every fiber of my being.”  _

_ It was the first time Emet had ever lied to her face. _

_ “That’s a load of shite and you know it!” Sahri snaps. Apparently she’d succeeded in making herself sound more forceful than desperate, for his eyebrows rise--only slightly, but enough to completely change the nature of his expression.  _

_ There. Her opening. Time to remind him she was the Ascian-slayer. _

_ Sahri closes the remaining distance between the two, bunching her fists in the robe above his chest and pressing his back to the rock. She stares at him with intense eyes, her heart rate picking up at finally having the man where she wanted him. Nowhere to run. The air crackled between them in much the same way as their first encounter in Rak’tika. Yet this time, it was he who was pinned.  _

_ “You pride yourself on your truthfulness,” Sahri tells him. “And you have been forthcoming--in all subjects but yourself.”  _

_ Emet huffs. “Why do you believe yourself entitled to such knowledge, hero?” _

_ “Call me by my name,” she demands, tightening her tug at his robe. Sorrow rises to the forefront of his glare.  _

_ “Is it truly your name if you cannot remember it?” Ah. Another agonizing dagger. _

_ “...Fair enough,” she concedes. “But, Emet--or whatever your name is. That’s exactly why I need you to be honest with me. I want to know what you know. I…” Her voice grows quiet. “I want to remember.”  _

_ Emet inhales sharply, and this close, Sahri can see his eyes growing wet. Her heart pounds, and somehow, she can sense his pounding as well. _

_ ***** _

_ “My love, you were always a terrible liar.” The black-masked woman frowns at him, disappointment evident on her face. His heart sinks like a stone. “You’re planning something with the others. At least tell me what it is.” _

_ He hates this deception, he truly does--but how could she understand? _

_ “It’s best you didn’t know,” is all he can muster, unable to meet her eyes. She holds his face in her hands and slowly leads his gaze back to hers.  _

_ “I am your wife. I have a right to know.” Her eyes are gentle, but steely. “Please, love. If it is something for us to argue about, argue we shall. We’ll book a private room in the Hall of Rhetoric if we need to. Being kept in the dark is a pain like no other. Tell me. I want to know.” _

_ ***** _

_ Sahri’s firm resolution receives an interruption when Emet’s hand moves to rest tenderly on her cheek. Ah...This touch...Her face heats instantly. Oh, this was the touch of a lover. Affection wells in her heart like little else she’s experienced with the man. She lowers her hands from his shirt and tugs off his glove so she can lean into his bare, warm skin. She holds his hand to her face with her own, her free one hanging off his wrist.  _

_ Oh...Oh. This simple affection lifted years of struggle, of heartbreak from her shoulders. She’d gotten through to him...that was love in his eyes, she knew it. Love...She loved this man. She could not deny it any longer, feeling him hold her head in his hand. That fact was as natural as the color of the Eorzean sky. Love rooted in her deepest depths, love that had yearned to express itself in defiance of this new world, of this new form. Home...Yes. His skin was home. _

_ Emet opens his mouth to speak, and Sahri’s heart swells. It was time. It was finally time for… _

_ “You say you want to know. But you do not understand for what you ask.” ...Crushing disappointment. Sahri’s face falls in an instant. “The knowledge, the memories I hold--They would crush you. Grind your spirit to dust.” He did not seem to be trying to condescend to her, for once. Sincerity...Hah. _

_ “Do...Do you expect me to say thank you?!” Sahri lifts her head off his hand and pushes it to the side. Her rage flares, even more intensely than if the man before her wore a patronizing sneer. “You are not the one who determines what I can or cannot handle. I am no stranger to pain. To despair. You, your kind, and your progeny have made certain of that. Often, I’m incapable of feeling at all.” She bunches her hands in his robe once more, snarling. “Acknowledge what you’ve created. Tell me.”  _

_ “...Mm.” The man furrows his brow, placing hand on his chin in thought. For every moment that passes in silence, Sahri’s fury grows more intense. She can hear her blood pulsing in her head. She was so close to breaking him. So godsdamned close. An interminable amount of time later, he speaks again. _

_ “...I acknowledge your words,” he begins, opening his eyes once more. “But much like names, they are flimsy. I require evidence of your conviction.” He holds his arms out to his sides, inviting her...to what, she did not know. “Demonstrate to me how much you want to remember.” _

_ That was it. Sahri’s patience had run its course. Her hand flies to the back of the man’s head, her fingers weaving paths into his hair, and she pulls him into a rough kiss.  _

_ This was almost certainly not what Emet had meant, but she didn’t bloody care. She would have this. She would have him. Apparently the high-running emotions had made him amenable to this course of events, because he shortly begins to return the kiss. Sahri invades his mouth with her tongue, and while he struggles back with his own, her tenacity prevails. After dancing with Emet’s tongue for a short while, she pulls back and bites down on his lip, lightly tugging at it. When she releases, she licks her fangs, tasting the slightest spot of blood.  _

_ “You imagine yourself to have a bite, today,” Emet quips. Seeing his eyes again, they are heated, and while the flames in them are different than usual, he seems more than pleased.  _

_ “Imagine? No. I’m done with that. You can’t run away from this anymore.” She dives forward and sinks her fangs, her teeth into his neck, earning a small groan from the man. She closes her mouth and sucks, intent to leave a mark. The first blemish she’d left on his perfect pretty skin, but it would not be the last. “No more.” His groans continue as her teeth drag to different areas of his neck, speaking between bites. “These...will help you remember. You can no longer….deny...that you are part of this.”  _

_ Sahri pulls off his neck with a pop, admiring her work with a wide grin. Emet’s neck is beautifully decorated with pink and purple, the man himself disheveled--hair tousled, panting, a deep flush on his face. Oh, Sahri was in rare form--thoroughly exhilarated. She felt alive, on the cusp of reclamation.  _

_ “Show that to your Ascian brethren,” she taunts him. “The Weapon of Light has claimed another. You are mine, Emet-Selch.” Oh, did her heart soar when she saw he’d taken the challenge.  _

_ “Such cocksuredness ill becomes you, hero,” he tells her, regaining his composure and staring at her with intensity. Ah, there was the inferno. “You’ll need to put in far more effort than that if you wish to conquer me.”  _

_ “And I will,” she tells him with confidence.  _

_ The man forcefully pulls her into another kiss, and Sahri gladly clashes with his lips once more. He attempts to overwhelm her, but she keeps perfect pace, thwarting his every attempt to shift the momentum. As they kiss, Sahri moves her hands to roam his chest, underneath his coat. Ah...this damnable robe he wore. A garment frustratingly difficult to remove--she’d never seen what lay beneath it, not once. But like everything else, that would end today. It would be an impossible task to pull the garment over his head, so she’d have to create a more direct route.  _

_ Slowly, as to escape notice, her hand falls to her side, edging towards one of the pouches she carried. Deftly, quietly, she opens it and rustles through its contents til she finds the target of her search--a small carving knife. Taking firm hold of the handle, she slips the blade out of its guard and holds it at her side. She would have to be quick about this. _

_ In one swift motion, she raises her arm. Predictably, the sudden movement draws Emet’s attention, and a hand catches her arm far short of its mark. _

_ “What do you think you’re doing?” _

_ His decision to stare her down caused him to miss that her hand had released the blade. Carrying the momentum from her arm, it flies into the air, and as it begins to fall, her free hand darts to catch it. She brings down her arm. Emet intercepts it, but he’s too late--Sahri has cut a large tear in his robe’s upper reaches, and she can see the sweet skin underneath.  _

_ “Finally,” she gasps, hungry. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight. Unfortunately for her, with both of her arms in Emet’s grasp, it’s a simple matter for him to flip their positions and slam her back to the rock wall. She does not stop smiling. This was the most fun she’d had in a long while.  _

_ “I would have preferred some advance warning before you defaced my attire,” Emet complains. “Very fine clothing, I might point out.” Sahri tilts her head and snickers.  _

_ “You’ll manage. It was simple with Shtola, wasn’t it?”  _

_ The man sighs, shaking his head disapprovingly. “So this is how I am repaid for respecting her decency. Truly, rescuing her may have been my greatest blunder…” _

_ An opportunity. Sahri drops her knife to the ground, its clatter drawing Emet’s attention. In a flash, she sweeps her leg to knock him off balance. He catches himself, but it is enough to slip from his hold and maneuver to his other side. He turns to face her. Perfect. His back was directed towards the wall once more.  _

_ Emet says nothing, but raises an eyebrow, as if to ask what came next. Sahri takes a few casual steps towards him, and he allows her approach. She places her hand on his chest...and doesn’t think twice before she fires a small, point-blank blast of light. Stunned and hissing in pain, the man reels backwards, and Sahri takes her chance. She leaps at him, her full weight sending the man toppling to the ground. When he recovers from the shock, he finds his back propped up against the wall--shoulders pinned by Sahri’s hands, the woman sitting on his hips and firmly planting her knees on his each side. Sahri grins widely. There would be no escaping from this.  _

_ “...You play dirty, hero.” Emet smiles, sounding impressed.  _

_ “I merely strive to follow your example.”  _

_ The man snorts. “Touché. You look confident in your victory, but you do realize I could teleport from your hold and end this at any time?” _

_ “You could,” she admits. Her eyes narrow, still smiling. “But you won’t. Will you?” Her words carry the air of a threat. The pink on Emet’s cheeks is undeniable. _

_ “...Very well. You win. Congratulations.” Bravado, even in surrender. Sahri had to admire that. “We’ll play by your rules today, then. Try not to disappoint me.” Sahri leans her hips back slightly, feeling the obvious bulge in Emet’s robes, and laughs. _

_ “Somehow, I don’t think I will. Now, no more hiding.” _

_ Sahri’s hands take hold in the tear in his robe and pull. It requires some effort, but a thread snaps, and then another, and soon she’s torn the fabric clean in half with a loud rip. Underneath is her prize--the gorgeous bare expanse of Emet’s chest. Sahri licks her lips. She unclasps his coat and forces it off his arms, letting it fall beneath him. Checking once more to ensure his eyes were appropriately heated by her actions (and they were), her hands fall atop it and she finally, finally explores him. While he was far from the most muscle-bound man she’d ever seen, he was toned for his frame, and she delighted in tracing the bulges and curves of his form.  _

_ More--she needs more. More skin against skin. She shrugs off her robe, pulls her dress over her head and unclasps her bra, removing the last barrier between the two’s bodies. While Emet drinks in her sudden nudity, she lays her head on his chest, pressing their bodies flush together. Fuck. This was hers. This was all hers, so familiarly hers, and she needed to feel every square ilm. Her hands run down the length of his arms, rubbing her cheek on his chest and roaming over it. Before long, she angles her head so her fangs drag along his skin instead, leaving reddened streaks of irritation in their wake. He can’t resist making sound at that--Sahri’s stomach twists pleasantly. Gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous. She slips her hand into her panties--she’d best start preparing herself. _

_ Sahri had to make sure to keep up his excitement while she had her fun, as well. As she fingers herself, she grinds her ass back against Emet’s still-covered cock--more stifled groaning. But he could not stifle them forever. Satisfied in raking her teeth, she instead turns to her tongue, tasting the barest hint of salt on his skin--the taste of his exertion belonged to her, as well. A devious idea floats into Sahri’s head. _

_ “I wonder…” She rests her head between the man’s pecs, slightly favoring the left side, and her eyes hone in on the pink of his nipple. Testing the waters, she sticks out her tongue and gives it one languid, deliberate lick upwards. She’s delighted to hear a sharp inhale. _

_ “You like that. I thought you might,” she coos. With her free hand, she moves to his other nipple and pinches it, massaging around it--more pretty inhales turning into gasps. It was a gamble whether a man enjoyed this, she’d found, but when they did, they were almost always surprised. Stealing a glance, that didn’t quite describe Emet’s expression. Had...her old self already explored this with him, by chance? The thought thrilled her beyond words.  _

_ She sets her tongue to work in earnest, lapping at his nipple, tracing around it in circles, nibbling and biting around it. The combined assault of his nipples and cock draws forth a genuine moan--at long last. By the Twelve, what an enthralling sound his pleasure was. If she wasn’t careful, she’d come around her own fingers just like this--but no. There was a place she’d much rather clamp her walls down.  _

_ “That’s enough teasing,” she tells him, giving one last scrape of her teeth before she rises off of him. She withdraws her fingers from herself and clamors for her knife once more--just out of reach, but she pulls it into her grasp with a weak Rescue spell. She cuts the sleeves of his robe, the garment finally freed from his torso in full. Before placing the tool aside, she cannot resist pressing the blade against his neck. _

_ “Well?” she asks him, smirking--taking in his flushed, winded expression. “Have I been a disappointment?”  _

_ Emet chuckles. “No. No, not at all. Though I’m eager to proceed to the main event.” _

_ “Eager for me to fuck you, you mean?” No response, but his thoroughly reddened cheeks are answer enough. Sahri hums smugly. She sets the knife aside.  _

_ Sahri lifts herself and shifts further down Emet’s hips, taking hold of his robe and yanking it down his legs. Some shuffling of undergarments, and the two are both exposed--pre leaking readily from Emet’s cock. Oh, look how excited he was--he was ready. She swipes the pre onto her finger and spreads it around his shaft, combining it with her own wetness to produce some modicum of lubrication. That would do. She takes firm hold of his base and carefully lines it up to her entrance.  _

_ She looks at him, smiling, gaze intense, and she receives intensity in turn. His inferno was in full blaze, but her will was stronger. He smiles at her, as well, playful and clearly enjoying. The spark of connection between them swelled to a peak. He was not feigning disinterest, looking at her as a toy, but instead with respect. The respect...of a partner. Her partner. Her partner… _

_ Sahri slides onto his cock in one move, quietly gasping at the sudden tightness but adjusting. There. His cock was hers, and it was time to use it. She grips his shoulders in her hands, pulling herself up and slamming her hips back down--ah, the pretty sounds he made. Her nails dig into his skin as she sets a blistering pace, riding his cock like there was no tomorrow--and for her, there was never any guarantee there was. The silencing spell served its purpose well, as neither of the two held back in their chorus of noise--their pants, their grunts, and soon, their moans.  _

_ Gods...Every time they made love, she lost herself in its rhythm, without fail. The same sweet ache filled her heart, but she felt closer to soothing it than ever before. Emet laid bare, unmasked before her, and the image of a man and woman reunited in their love transcended mere imagination. It was real, and she wanted to claim it, desperately.  _

_ “Emet…” she gasps, drawing his eyes once more. “I want...I want to remember. I do. I do.” His eyes widen, and she feels her own watering. Her hands move from digging into his shoulders to holding the back of his neck, and she leans her face in close. Gods, she was so close... “Emet, I want...I-I want…” _

_ Emet pulls her into a kiss, earning a small moan. This was not the testy contest of wills from earlier, but something much more gentle, an expression of their synchrony. His hands were coated in blood, but she didn’t care, she didn’t care--so were hers. They were both monsters, meant to be together. Their reunion was inescapable. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him… _

_ With a few final thrusts of her hips, Sahri finds her release, walls begging to claim one last part of him. He obliges, crying out softly as he floods her with his warmth. Sahri collapses against Emet’s chest, and the two pant in unison through their afterglows. Neither makes a move to untangle from the other. They take a few minutes to catch their breath--the longest they’ve ever spent together after orgasm. Sahri smiles fondly, squeezing her arms around his back. She gives him a small nuzzle before rising to meet his eyes. _

_ “How...How was that for evidence of my conviction?” she asks, only half-teasing. The man laughs with but a small hint of condescension--a marked improvement from usual. _

_ “Hero, you know that was not the type of ‘conviction’ for which I asked.” He sighs in mock-exasperation. “...But I’ll allow it.” _

_ “Really?” Sahri’s heart leaps, and she smiles widely.  _

_ “Don’t look so excited,” Emet scolds, shaking his head. “I must still consider the when and how.” Ah...She supposed she owed him that much courtesy, at least. Still, she couldn’t help but feel some disappointment.  _

_ “...Very well. As long as you promise to tell me soon.” _

_ “I have a keen interest in doing so,” he reassures. She doesn’t quite like the implications of that, but for the sake of the moment, she will let it slide. Instead, she settles her head back on his chest, holding her embrace. _

_ “...Emet?”  _

_ “Mm?” _

_ “...Stay, this time,” she asks. “Please. It doesn’t have to be for long. Just...Just allow me to lay here for a while longer.” _

_ Emet says nothing, but she feels his arms at her back, returning her embrace. She begins to cry, yet smiles, burying her face into his chest. Before long, the moment would end--even if Emet had nowhere else to be, she would soon need to deliver Minfilia to her destiny. But for now...for now, she would allow herself to sink into it. To find peace in the embrace of a forgotten love… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sahri: Are you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go ape shitt
> 
> (It bears repeating that this is NOT healthy sex, if that was not obvious. Please communicate with your partners before doing knifeplay and the like, developed consent is key.)


	12. Crystalline Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mire of gloom has engulfed Sahri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of start to invent relations between the villagers here for more flavor, hopefully people enjoy

Hades, my love,

Not a day passes that I do not think of you. Not an hour that I do not see your face. I would say I do not have the right to reflect upon you, to say your name, to call you my love, were it not for what you asked of me. I did not deserve the love inherent in trusting me with this task--I cannot remember, or even imagine, why it is you loved me so. No doubt you’d told me as much, once upon a time, but Hydaelyn’s wretched light has purged me of those happy days. Nonetheless--you trusted me, and I will trust you. I will remember you. Us. Our people. Everything you’ve shown me, of Amaurot, of our past...these earrings I’ve worn unfailingly since the day you reminded me of the selfish folly of running away...All of them, I will carry with me til the day I last draw breath. That, I swear to you. 

I’ve been straining, straining with all my might to summon forth my long-buried memories, but my success has been frustratingly limited. The fragments are brighter than before, but they are fragments still. A kiss. A lean on the shoulder. A laugh shared with friends. Almost all that remains of most is the emotional truth inherent--I suppose even Hydaelyn could not erase that. The love and bliss we shared, the eternal back and forth of our stubborn wills, the mortal terror of those final days... Yet so much has been lost to the void. Did our night on the tower bear fruit, I wonder? I would like to imagine myself as long being your wife, and you my husband--or whatever the equivalent may have been in Amaurot. How many others did we both love whose memory is forever lost? And did their ranks include children of ours? That would depend on how young we were when the end came, I have to imagine. If I was anything like I am now, I’m certain the subject of having a family at least came up. Yet I’ve deprived myself of the answer to all these questions, and more. Deprived by the choice I made.

I question that choice, constantly. You threatened all of those I held dear to me...the lives of all who currently live...So I had no other option, did I? Unless...Should I have held you all the more dearly? Perhaps you were right, that the love I feel is nothing compared to what it was...How can I ever know? It haunts me. The worst part is, of course, that those I chose over you--I myself am a threat to them, as well. I am possessed of the light...Not that of the Lightwardens, of which you cured me--that, I can recognize now. Your intervention in the woods reminded me I must keep my facts in order. To do less would be to dishonor you. No, I speak of Hydaelyn’s light--the light of enthrallment, of which I know precious little. Will I stay alive, will I stay myself long enough to remember and honor you as you deserve? I maim and kill even those I say I love. Perhaps I should have taken your hand, that day in Kholusia. I wanted to. Desperately. If I was going to be a danger to them, regardless...At least I could have been with you. At least I could have been yours.

I love you, Hades. I did a miserable job of showing it, but I do. I will forever hold the new memories we made together dearly, however painful they may be. I took your life...your beautiful life. Your wit, your charm, your hopes, your dreams, your kindness and your sorrows...your smile...I banished them all to oblivion. By my hand...by my light. My wicked light. In exchange, my life is yours. My every breath, yours. I won’t forget you. I won’t. If Hydaelyn herself rose to strip me of these memories once more, I would stand against her, unflinching. So rest easy, my love...This final promise is one I will not break.

With adoration,

A woman without a name

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Sahri sets down her quill, wiping tears from her eyes. Embraced by the gentle candlelight of she and Y’shtola’s bedroom, she wept. Her letter would never reach its intended recipient...Yet, what more could she do? She can only hope that somehow, somewhere, her words found him. She must believe in his peace. She must…

Reaching up to the earrings which adorn her, she takes them in her hands and gently rubs her fingers across the stretches of violet. The one and only keepsake she had of Hades, the only evidence of a life once lived. If she was not bathing or sleeping, she wore them--and even then, she kept them close at hand. Yet they were more than a comforting reminder of him, or a sign she was his, ever and always. No, they possessed a quality immensely difficult to describe--they resonated with her soul, made her feel---something far closer to whole. Her heart aches, knowing why. She’d pieced it together shortly after she and the Scions had arrived in Hades’ recreation of Amaurot. Those days long gone...Oh, those days long gone…..

“I’ve returned, moonbeam.”

Sahri frantically stashes her letter underneath a journal and turns to face the room’s entry. Y’shtola smiles at her, carrying a bowl of what looked like roasted mushrooms and assorted vegetables. Sahri’s stomach growls. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was…

“Ersabel took the liberty of preparing some food for you,” Y’shtola explains, placing the bowl on the desk before Sahri. “You really ought to thank her, later.” Sahri looks to the bowl, then back to Y’shtola. She nods, but says nothing more. Y’shtola’s smile falls. 

“Still no words for me, then?” Y’shtola folds her arms and takes a seat on their bed. Words...Sahri had spoken precious few of them since the day Y’shtola had found her shivering in a pool of the Blessed’s holy water. “Why do you insist on treating me as you would a stranger?” The bitter truth being that Sahri wasn’t certain who was a stranger and who was not, now. 

Day upon day, she and Y’shtola repeated this one-sided “conversation.” It...wasn’t as if Sahri was angry with the woman, or wanted to frustrate her so. Yet every time she thought to speak, she could not find her voice. Sometimes she feared that even acknowledging Y’shtola would...She winces at the memory of how she struck the woman in the midst of her delusion. No...No. She could not put any more lives in danger. She must expose herself to as few as possible. Her hands could do naught but hurt. That was why she’d resolved to never leave this room outside of absolute necessity. 

“Sahri,” Y’shtola says firmly. “I know not the full weight of what hangs upon your soul, but I must repeat, it is not a burden to bear on your own. You will never come to terms with it that way.” A glint of sadness crosses her eyes. Sahri wants to reach out and comfort her, but she finds she cannot move. “If I am not the woman with which to do so, so be it. But someone. Anyone.” A pause. “Should we arrange for you to return to the Crystarium, that you may find comfort in the Exarch?”

Sahri frantically shakes her head. No, no, no. The Greatwood was the only place which could contain her. The damage she could do to the people of the Crystarium...She shuddered to imagine. A memory crosses through her mind--the day of her first “episode.” She’d...snapped at Raha, then, hadn’t she? Gods...if she hurt him...if she hurt that sweet man, too, after all he’d done for her...She clutches her head in her hands. No. No. Never. Never…

“...As you wish, then.” Y’shtola sighs, standing up from the bed. “I will not spend my day fruitlessly attempting to wrest words from you.” Sahri opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes forth. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” The woman picks a few books off the floor, turning to look at Sahri one last time before she leaves to the main room. Sahri hugs her knees to herself, rests her head in them, and silently cries.

That is, until her stomach growls once more. Right. She needed to eat. She slowly turns towards the bowl still resting before her and plucks a single mushroom between her fingers. Raising it to her mouth, she takes a tiny bite. Mmm. It was delicious--prepared just how she liked it. And yet...She sighs and places it back down in the bowl. Her body might demand it, but Sahri did not have the will to eat--not now. 

Instead, she takes her carving knife in hand and rummages under the bed...there it was. She sits on the edge of the bed and places her current project on her lap. An intricate carving of his face--of Hades’ face. She wanted to preserve it while she still remembered...Luckily, she was nearly finished--the main shape was formed, she merely needed to inscribe the finer details. And thus she sets to work, knife bringing her love’s features to life. The blade forms the curve of his lips, the shape of his eyes, the dip of his cheeks...One minute blurs to the next as she loses herself in her task. After a painstaking amount of focus into precise, delicate cuts, she finally reaches a point where she is satisfied. Only one more step left. 

Reaching into her pocket, Sahri pulls out a small piece of moonstone--one she’d grinded down to serve as a makeshift Garlean Eye. She holds the stone to the bust’s forehead, judging the size of the indent she must make, and then uses her knife to carve out the slot. Carefully, she presses the moonstone into the carving, ensuring a snug fit...There. It’s complete. 

Sahri holds the bust at a distance, admiring her work. Ah...she’d done a fine job of capturing his likeness. It was instantly recognizable as him, without a doubt, down to the slightest hint of smugness in the expression he wore. After glancing to ensure Y’shtola wasn’t watching, she briefly presses her lips to the ones she’d carved. Pulling back, she gazes upon it fondly. Yes...she’d finally created a fitting tribute. 

...Though…

Upon closer examination, his right cheek did not look quite correct. She scrapes some of the wood off of it...Wait, no. Damn it, that was too much. She attempts to recover by whittling down the other cheek to match...But it looked even less like him now. The nose was all wrong too, wasn’t it? It was much too pronounced...She attempts to correct, but her unsteady hand causes her to accidentally take off the entire tip. No, no, no! His eyes--they were much too round as well, and his lips weren’t...his ears weren’t……….Tears fall onto the bust. Dammit, dammit, dammit, it was all falling apart!

Sahri cries out in anger and stabs her knife deep into the wood. She pulls it out and stabs again, then again. Worthless. She frantically slashes at it, shredding his every feature to unrecognizability. Worthless, worthless, worthless! Her grunts and growls and tears increase in intensity as she defaces her work, unleashing her frustration and fury upon it.

“Sahri? Sahri, what are you--?!” 

Sahri yelps when the knife catches the side of her thumb and blood falls onto the mangled face. She pries the moonstone from the wood before yelling and hurtling the remains of the bust into the room’s corner. It slams into the wall and falls into the pile of the rest of her failed attempts. She buries her face in her hands and weeps.

“That’s quite enough.” Y’shtola carefully takes the knife from Sahri’s hand and stows it away. “I’ll be holding onto this for now. ...Ah, you’re injured…”

Y’shtola gets on one knee and pulls Sahri’s hands off of her face. Sahri refuses to meet her eyes as the woman heals her cut, but Y’shtola redirects her gaze to scrutinize her face. She runs two fingers down the trail Sahri’s tears fell, and they pull away red. Her eyes widen.

“...That  _ is _ blood,” Y’shtola realizes. “Your tears smeared it all over your face. Sahri…” Sahri’s heart wells with shame, but she still cannot meet Y’shtola’s eyes. The woman stands. “...I’ll fetch you a washcloth.”

“Master Matoya. Do you have a mo--” The two turn to see Runar standing in the doorway, visibly taken aback by the scene before him. “A-Ah. No, I’ve clearly arrived at a poor time.” He takes a step back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Allow me to return later.”

“No, no,” Y’shtola sighs, stopping him. “Talk to me.” 

“Th-thank you, Master Matoya.” He turns towards Sahri and gives her a nod. “Lady Lukah.” Sahri averts her eyes. “You see…” he begins to explain. “A pack of our hunters had an incident. They were beset by a pack of wild hogs far larger than they were accustomed to--no doubt a result of their growing population. We’re tending to their injuries in the cave next to The Darker--” The same cave which housed the holy water. “--But we are short on hands. We could use your healing prowess to speed things along.” 

“Of course. I’d be glad to assist.” Y’shtola turns back towards Sahri. “You’ll be coming along as well, Lukah.” Sahri’s eyes fly open, surprise overtaking her expression. Was...was she mad? She couldn’t...she couldn’t go near...Y’shtola shakes her head in exasperation. “Don’t look at me so. Your mastery of the White is second to none in Slitherbough. Come along.” She pulls Sahri to her feet and begins to lead her towards the door.

“M-Master Matoya,” Runar stammers. “If Lady Lukah is not feeling well, surely we can find someone else to--”

“She is coming.” Y’shtola’s voice is definitive. Both Runar and Sahri cease their protests. “And Runar--wet a washcloth for her, will you?”

Y’shtola leads Sahri out of the home by her wrist, and Sahri attempts to hide her still blood-covered face as they arrive in the cave across the green. It currently has the look of a makeshift infirmary, five of the Blessed laid on their backs being variously tended to. Wrendia and Ersabel speak in hushed tones near the entrance. They wave when they see the two approach--though Wrendia’s eyebrows raise in shock when she turns her eyes towards Sahri. Ersabel’s expression remains unchanged. 

“Master Matoya,” Ersabel says, walking towards them. “Was Lady Lukah injured as well? We should still have space for her care.”

Y’shtola shakes her head. “No. She merely needs a washcloth, and Runar is already seeing to it. The two of us are here to offer our assistance.”

Wrendia clasps her hands together. “That would be a great help, indeed! The others could use you on the far end, Master Matoya--that is where we placed those with the most severe injuries.”

“Say no more.” Y’shtola gives Wrendia and Sahri a wave (as well as a reassuring, yet firm look) before heading in that direction. Sahri resists the urge to reach out after her--Being outside already had her heart stammering, and without Y’shtola...Wrendia turns to Sahri, and though the drahn woman already knows what lies upon her face, she does a double-take regardless. 

“And for you, Lady Lukah...Ah, I know. Vondia suffered injuries that are deep, but not life-threatening, so we haven’t had the time to properly address them. With your level of prowess, she should only need you attending her--Could you?”

Not knowing what else to do, Sahri nods, and Wrendia smiles at her. She nervously glances around the room, and surely enough, Vondia lays beside one of the walls. The woman looked to be in pain...She couldn’t just leave her unaided. Managing to take the first, tentative step, Sahri makes her way to Vondia’s side and kneels over her.

“L...Lady Lukah, is that you?” Vondia stirs, pausing when she takes in Sahri’s face. “...Wicked white, are you well?” Sahri nods. “I take it you’re here to tend to my wounds, then.” The woman sighs, smiling in self-deprecation. “How embarrassing this is. You’ve faced down the greatest threats Norvrandt has ever known, and here I lie, bested by a simple hog.” In spite of herself, a smile creeps onto Sahri’s face. She wants to reassure the woman, but in lieu of that, she simply shakes her head. That’s enough to brighten Vondia’s smile. “They are much healthier than they used to be. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“Lady Lukah!” The two turn towards the bellowing voice to see Runar tiptoe around the patients as he makes his way towards them. He stops at Sahri’s side. “I am so very sorry for the delay! I tried to retrieve the washcloth as quickly as I could, but I ran into--” He stops himself and shakes his head. “Well, never mind that. Here it is.” 

Sahri nods and reaches out to take the cloth. She is shocked to discover that was not, in fact, Runar’s plan. He leans down and places the cloth to her face himself, scrubbing intently. Sahri’s ears twitch frantically as she whines at the man’s exaggerated movements, but he does not relent. She suddenly understands how Y’shtola felt when Runar scooped her up in his arms after her return from the Lifestream--the man was ever affectionate. Alas, he meant well. She breathes a sigh of relief when he finally pulls away. 

“There you are. All clean now, Lady Lukah.” Sahri will take his word for it. He stuffs the sullied cloth in one of his pockets before turning back to her. “Please forgive me for my curt manner earlier,” he tells her, sounding guilty. “I was simply so surprised by what I saw…” Sahri shakes her head. She could not begrudge the man for his shock. If she was being honest, she didn’t even recall him being particularly curt, but perhaps by his standards…

He smiles at her, for the first time that day. “You are kind, Lady Lukah. Ah…” Sahri jolts when he puts his hands on her shoulders. “If I may say...It does my heart good to see you walk among us once more. We have all been so terribly worried about you…” Sahri clutches her heart, casting her eyes downward. Worried….about her? His words touched something in her heart. He...he shouldn’t be concerned about her. He should be concerned about her very presence here…

“Ahem.” The two quickly turn their gaze towards an amused yet mildly annoyed looking Vondia. Runar quickly stands. 

“Ah! My sincerest apologies, Vondia!” he exclaims. “You were about to receive treatment, weren’t you? I will leave you both be. Let us speak more later, Lukah!” And thus he scurries off, leaving Sahri to her patient. Vondia gives a hearty laugh.

“Runar’s energy is limitless as ever.” Vondia’s eyes turn sincere. “Though I must agree with his sentiment. None of us knew what to think after that day the Children came calling. It is a relief to see you again.” Her, too? Sahri feels tears prickling at her eyes. They didn’t understand...They didn’t understand what she was…..

“Erm...Lady Lukah?” Vondia asks, and Sahri wills those thoughts away. “Are you certain you’re well enough to be doing this?” In truth, Sahri had no idea, but she nods anyway. Vondia...Vondia was counting on her. She should examine the wound. She reaches towards the woman’s hastily applied bandages, hands and body trembling. No...No. She shouldn’t be doing this. She would find a way to hurt her. She…..Vondia’s concerned eyes push her forward. Slowly, Sahri takes hold of the bandages and pulls them down, revealing the wound underneath.

It is as Wrendia described...It seemed the woman was impaled in the abdomen by one of the boar’s tusks, but it luckily missed any vital organs. Nothing to clean out of it, either...She could seal it and be done. A simple task. As long as she could get it right...She places her hands over the wound...and a memory forces itself into Sahri’s head. Attempting to conjure Stone at the archer among the Children, and instead finding light. Sahri shakes. Oh gods, what if...what if it happened again? If she tried to heal, and instead...and instead……

A hand falls atop hers. Vondia’s hand. She wants to scream, tell her no, no, it’s too dangerous…! And yet...Nothing happened. Vondia had made first contact, touched the hands that brought death wherever they roamed...and was none the worse for it. Only looking on at her, eyes filled with worry, but also reassurance. Trust. Sahri lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Yes...she had done this a thousand times, and she could do it again. She relaxes, beginning to allow the magic flow through her body, to her hands...and watches their faint green glow as Vondia’s wound shallows and shrinks. Before long, it had completely closed, leaving only a scar behind. Vondia withdraws her hand from Sahri’s and runs it over the new scar. Her smile grows wide.

“You...You are a miracle worker, Lady Lukah!” the woman exclaims. “It is as if I was never injured. Why, I’m certain I could--” The woman starts to sit up, but Sahri gently pushes her back down.

“You…” Sahri is shocked to hear her own voice. “You...still need rest,” she tries to explain. “Let the magic settle in…” 

“Hmm...Well, I’d best heed your advice.” Vondia smiles again, but this time it is distant, looking past Sahri. “She would never forgive me if I jeopardized my life so recklessly.” 

Sahri tilts her head. “...She?” Vondia looks surprised by her voice, as if woken from a dream. Her eyes glint with sadness, but she shakes her head. “Pay me no mind. Lady Lukah...Sincerely, thank you.”

‘Thank you.’ Two simple words, yet ones that draw warm tears flowing down Sahri’s face. Vondia’s face takes on the look of someone who’d just stumbled across a snow white amaro, but she reaches out and puts a comforting hand on Sahri’s arm. ‘Thank you.’ Sahri holds her hands before her, staring at her palms. Her hands were...simply hands. Worn hands. A woman’s hands. Hands that could hurt...hands that could heal. She’d...she’d forgotten they could do that. ‘Thank you.’ As Sahri cries, a smile rises to her face. These...these were tears of relief. She...She could do more. She could do more than...than…

It takes a few minutes for Sahri to gather herself, after that. When she looks up, she sees Vondia is still smiling at her--a hint of confusion in her eyes, but smiling. Sahri is grateful...if not a bit self-conscious. She really did hate breaking down in front of anyone but those special few, even if she’d been doing so much of it lately…

“Feeling better now?” Vondia asks. Sahri nods, still smiling. “Good, good.”

“Thank...Thank you,” Sahri manages, a world of weight behind her words. Vondia’s confusion only grows.

“I...don’t think I’ve done anything worthy of your thanks, Lady Lukah,” Vondia tells her. Oh, how wrong she was...But Sahri decides to keep that to herself. She wouldn’t subject the woman to even further befuddlement. “I do appreciate it, though,” Vondia continues. “If you want to thank me, you might consider helping Master Matoya and the others cooped up in the far end. They look as if they could use some assistance...”

Sahri glances their direction, and surely enough, all of the remaining medics surround whatever unfortunate soul lays at the cave’s end. She sees consternation written all over Y’shtola’s face. Vondia...might be right. But was it really a good idea…? She looks back to Vondia, who gives her a nod. Right. Sahri nods back. She...she should at least see what she could do. Bidding Vondia farewell, Sahri slowly makes her way towards the group. Y’shtola must have heard her approach, as she turns around to meet her. 

“Lukah? Is something...” The woman furrows her brow and takes a few steps towards Sahri, placing a hand on her face and swiping underneath her eye with her thumb. “...Crying, again. Did something go wrong during Vondia’s treatment?” Sahri shakes her head, and Y’shtola looks visibly relieved. “That’s reassuring. You’re done tending to her?” A nod. “We’re in luck, then. The whole of us have been doing our best, but my conjury is...unpracticed, these days. This man could use a woman of your expertise.” 

Sahri looks at him and immediately understands why. The man must have taken the brunt of the hogs’ attack. He’d been impaled at multiple points--some in rather concerning areas--in addition to being slashed and bruised. She has to wonder if the hogs trampled him and broke some bones. Overall, far from an unmanageable case, but...urgent, to say the least. Sahri gives Y’shtola a determined nod, and for the first time in...days, weeks, she honestly wasn’t certain, she made Y’shtola smile. 

“Thank you, moonbeam.” Y’shtola pets her hair, and Sahri feels her cheeks pinken. “Let us waste no ti--”

“Eloise, you should not be here.” Ersabel’s stern voice draws the miqo’te women’s gazes back towards the cave entrance. 

“I-I’m sorry, Mother...I only wanted to know where you were.” A familiar blue-haired elf girl sulks before the woman. Eloise...So that was her name. And she was Ersabel’s girl, at that. The woman kneels to pat her daughter’s head.

“That is sweet of you, but this is no place for a child. Go play with your friends. I will seek you out once I’m done here.”

The girl’s face brightens significantly. “Okay, Mother. Thank you. I’ll--” Eloise happens to glance behind her, and her jaw drops when her eyes land on Sahri. “L...Lady Lukah?! Is that you?” To her mother’s dismay, the girl scurries towards Sahri--and further into the cave. Sahri does her best to position herself between the girl and the gruesome sight behind her.

“Lady Lukah, it is you!” The girl beams at her. “Everyone in class was saying that you got hurt really bad, or you couldn’t walk anymore, or that you were going to leave Slitherbough...But I knew they were wrong! I knew it...” Eloise throws her arms around Sahri, and after a moment of shock, she slowly hugs the girl back. She thinks she might cry all over again. She really did have all of Slitherbough worried half to death, didn’t she…? Y’shtola laughs behind her.

“One of the children you picked up was Ersabel’s girl?” She sounds thoroughly amused. Speaking of Ersabel, the woman finally catches up to her daughter, and looks none too pleased for it. 

“Eloise! What did I just tell you?” The girl turns to her but continues to cling onto Sahri.

“Oh, Mother, I’m sorry...But look! It’s Lady Lukah!” Eloise looks back up at Sahri, eyes alight. “I know! Lady Lukah, this is the perfect time to ask Mother about the...the thing. You know, the tree climbing thing?” Oh. That. Sahri...was woefully unequipped to have that conversation at the moment. Ersabel raises an eyebrow, but mercifully does not press the subject.

“Eloise,” Ersabel scolds. “Lady Lukah is in the middle of important work. You mustn’t interrupt her.” The girl’s face falls. 

“Oh. Is that true, Lady Lukah?” Sahri gives her a sympathetic smile and nods. “I...I didn’t realize. Sorry…” The girl lets go of Sahri, sounding utterly dejected. She perks up when Sahri gives her a pat on the head. “Well...I’m glad I got to see you, at least! We can play another day.”

“El...Eloise,” Sahri says, trying out the girl’s name for the first time. “I’m glad I got to see you, too.” Sahri doesn’t think she’s ever seen the girl so happy. Eloise hugs her again, only letting go when Ersabel tugs her away. The woman takes her daughter’s hand and gives them a glance of apology before leading her away.

“I should have known it would take a child for you to finally speak,” Y’shtola remarks. Sahri turns back towards her to find a teasing expression. “I won’t pretend I’m not jealous.” She’d be even more jealous if she realized the first was actually Vondia, Sahri thinks. A bubble of mirth wells in Sahri’s chest, and by the time she recognizes it, it’s already expressed itself as a small giggle. Y’shtola’s eyes and smile widen in tandem. 

“...Or not. Your laugh is something far more precious. And a prize I can claim all for my own.” Y’shtola gives her a lingering kiss on the cheek, and Sahri’s heart does a little leap. When she pulls away, however, her smile quickly fades to something far more serious. “...But more of that later. For now, we must devote our full attention to saving a life.”

Of course. They had a duty. She...she had a duty. If her hands could save him...She would gladly offer them. Sahri walks next to the man and falls to her knees, beginning to examine his wounds in greater detail…

………………………………………………………………………………..

By the time they concluded the man’s treatment, night had fallen in Rak’tika. To Sahri’s relief, the man was going to live--her medical knowledge and proficiency in healing magic were enough to save him. To save a life...

“You did well, Lukah.” Y’shtola places her hand on Sahri’s back, the two now standing in the central green. “Is it not satisfying to finally be free of that room? To interact with your fellow woman once more?”

Sahri had to admit...It was. Her mind had made it so easy to forget the nuance of her existence...Self-isolation only exacerbating a lack of perspective. The people of Slitherbough cared for her, wanted her to be here, and she could still find ways to help them. That didn’t suddenly neutralize the danger she could pose, of course...But it brought a very welcome spot of comfort to her sea of her misery. 

Besides, it was starting to sink in just how long she’d stayed cooped up indoors. Looking back, the thought was alien to her. How could she have stood that? She was determined to protect others from her, of course, but...Day upon day of latent restlessness collapses on Sahri at once. Her body burns at the feeling of standing still. She needed to  _ go _ somewhere,  _ do _ something. She looks towards Slitherbough’s western exit, fidgeting. What to do…? What to do…? 

“You seem eager to get moving,” Y’shtola observes with a chuckle. “Fancy a walk, moonbeam? I’d be glad to accompany you.” Sahri claps her hands in excitement, and Y’shtola shakes her head, a smile adorning her face. 

Sahri takes a step towards the village exit when she’s stopped in her tracks by a horrific, strained gurgling noise. ......Her own stomach crying out, she realizes. Y’shtola folds her arms and looks at her disapprovingly. 

“...You never ate the food I brought, did you?” Sahri rubs the back of her head, embarrassed. “We’re remedying that. Immediately.” 

When she finds the bowl in her hands once more, Sahri happily scarfs down its contents. Even cold, the vegetables were delicious, though they did not quite sate Sahri’s hunger--so Y’shtola assisted her in raiding the foodstuffs. Once Sahri had eaten her fill, she brimmed with even more energy to burn. Their “walk” instead consisted of Sahri dashing to climb up tree after tree in their path. Y’shtola joined her on the first climb, but was content to watch on from the ground for the rest. Given the height of the Greatwood’s trees, it only took a few to run through Sahri’s reserves of energy. Instead of immediately returning to Slitherbough, the two opted to sit for a time on the banks of Lake Tusi Mek’ta, only a small distance west from the village.

“Work that through your system?” Y’shtola asks her. Sahri sighs with satisfaction and languidly nods her head, prompting a small chuckle. Y’shtola places her hand atop Sahri’s and scoots closer next to her. Her expression is tender, as is her voice. “I’m heartened to see you break free from the lethargy that has consumed you of late.” Yes...Feeling her heart pound in her chest from something other than anxiety was paradoxically soothing. A spark of life in a dead soul. 

Sahri turns her gaze downward, to the water immediately before her. It was still. While Tusi Mek’ta’s waters were slightly murky, she could still make out her reflection in the moonlight. She looked...terrible. Her hair was not done up in its usual buns, instead utterly unkempt, flying out every which way...she supposed she  _ had _ been neglecting her personal grooming. She places a finger on the deep bags underneath her eyes...was her skin a shade paler than usual? Y’shtola squeezes her hand, drawing her attention.

“You need not to look your finest every day, moonbeam,” Y’shtola reassures, immediately reading her thoughts. “You are allowed to slip. Have a bad day, or a bad week.” She rubs a soothing thumb across the back of Sahri’s hand. Yes...The woman was right, of course. She allows her self-judgement to fall away for the time being. She could begin taking care of herself once more tomorrow.

For now...Sahri casts her gaze towards the wide expanse of the lake’s surface. Ah...Rak’tika was a beautiful sight at night. She had missed something special, not being able to linger for long on her first visit. While the lake did not have the brightest sparkle she’d ever witnessed, its reflection of the moon was still a soothing image. Framed by the glow of luminescent blue flowers, it reminded her of the tranquility of a Slitherbough dwelling. She idly has to wonder if these very flowers gave the Blessed the idea for the blue color of their candles. Looking around, she sees there is another patch of the flowers to the women’s right. And an even brighter source of light above them…

It was...a large, light purple crystal, surrounded by the almost vine-like growth of the tree’s trunk it resided in. A most unnatural sight to someone unfamiliar with the area, but Sahri had noticed this crystal before--it was far from the only tree in Rak’tika with a bizarre crystal outgrowth. Still...was there something different about it, tonight? It almost seemed like...It almost seemed…

“ _ Hear. _ ” No...The crystal’s color shifts. It is...it is an icy blue.  _ “Feel. _ ” Sahri’s heart rate, which had calmed from her earlier exertions, begins to pick up once more.

_ “Think.” _

No...no, no, no…! Not her, not here! She couldn’t...sh-she couldn’t…

“Sahri. Sahri, look at me.” Y’shtola’s firm tone commands her attention. Worry fills her eyes, but she is wearing a stern expression. “I cannot know what you believe you are seeing...But it is not real. It is not real, Sahri. There is no danger here. Only you and I. Refuse your senses this deception.”

No danger...Only Y’shtola. Only Y’shtola. Right...Right. That was logical. That made sense. If Hydaelyn was too weak to even speak to her properly, how could she manifest herself here? Sahri takes a breath. She couldn’t. She simply couldn’t...Slowly, she lifts her free hand, extending it towards Y’shtola’s face. It trembles, but she presses forward--that is, until her hand itself begins to glow, light gathering before her palm. Oh, gods...Her light would hurt Y’shtola again! She couldn’t--not again! Not...not…

...No. Sahri closes her eyes, concentrating on the softness of Y’shtola’s skin. That wasn’t right, either...Though blood pounded in her ears, she could not actually sense a flow of magic through her body. That light...wasn’t real. She opens her eyes, and her hand still glows...but she has to trust herself. Taking a deep breath, she presses her palm to Y’shtola’s cheek before she can reconsider. 

The light dissipates in an instant. Sahri glances back towards the crystal, and it too has resumed its normal form. Praise the Twelve...She collapses against Y’shtola’s shoulder in sheer relief, tears immediately streaming down her face.

“Shtola…!” Y’shtola’s arms pull her into a tight hug.

“You are safe here, moonbeam…” Y’shtola’s voice is quiet, intimate. Sahri feels the truth of the woman’s words in her body as it eases into repose. 

“...I’m sorry,” Sahri tells her. “I’m so sorry...that I hurt you, Shtola…”

“Hurt me?” Y’shtola asks, confused. “You’ve done no such thing, Sahri.” Sahri shakes her head, rising to meet the other woman’s eyes.

“No. I mean, that day,” she explains. “After the Children…” She trails off, but it’s enough to spark recognition on Y’shtola’s face. 

“Ah…” Y’shtola closes her eyes, pondering a response. When she reopens them, Sahri sees no anger. “I forgive you,” is all the woman says, yet it lifts a world of guilt from her shoulders. Sahri buries her head in Y’shtola’s chest, sniffling.

“I-I...I would never want to hurt you,” she stammers, somewhat muffled by her position. “Please believe...I could never...I-I could never…”

“I know, moonbeam.” Y’shtola pets her hair. “I know. If you would like to make it up to me…” She tilts Sahri’s head upwards. “Talk to me. Please. I can do nothing to help you without knowing what weighs upon your soul. It...It is painful, watching as you suffer and being unable but to stand by,” she admits. “What sends you into these fits, Sahri?”

She...She owed Y’shtola this honesty. No matter how painful or frightening the truth, Y’shtola told it. She...she must be the same. She must...she must...And yet…

Sahri sits back up, eyes still locked on Y’shtola. She stifles a small, bitter laugh.

“Where do I even begin?” Sahri asks, hoping her question’s earnestness is clear. Y’shtola taps her cheek thoughtfully. 

“Well...Tonight’s episode seems a logical start.” 

Ah. It really was that simple, wasn’t it? Y’shtola could cut to the core of any issue with ease. Sahri turns her gaze back out towards the lake. The light it reflected was beautiful, indeed...yet the hint of blue added by the flowers serves to remind her of the dangers it may hold. She bites her lip, steeling herself for what she is about to admit. Some unwelcome leech in her soul rebels at the notion, urging her to stay quiet, to tell no one...but she is stronger. She pushes it to the side.

“Hydaelyn tempered me.”

Heavy silence reigns between the two, only punctured by the rustling of the woods and the sounds of the wildlife around. After a few moments, Sahri works up the courage to turn her gaze back towards Y’shtola. As she suspected, the woman is deep in thought. There is no shortage of terror on her face, terror Sahri knows she is straining to channel towards finding explanations, solutions, answers. That was simply how the woman’s mind worked. When she notices her love is watching, the woman gathers herself and finally speaks. 

“...I feared as much,” she confesses. “Is enthrallment what you believe your Blessing of Light to be?”

“I don’t know,” Sahri says with total honesty. “I don’t know if it’s the Blessing, or the Echo...both, neither…” She clutches her chest. “But I know it’s there. She has hooks in my soul. Teeth. Fangs.” Sahri shakes her head, bitter smile rising to her face. 

“The day I was captured in Thanalan, brought before Ifrit in the Bowl of Embers...the people around me turned into his mindless slaves, but I was unaffected. I thought it nothing short of a miracle. What a glorious, liberating power I’d been given. Even Ifrit was shocked I could resist his will.” She clenches her fists. “Little did he know, another ‘god’ had simply beat him to his claim.” 

Y’shtola shakes her head. “Yet you are not the same as Ifrit’s victims, Sahri,” she reminds her. “You are clearly possessed of your will. And while I could have believed some of the Ascians we encountered were nothing more than Zodiark’s gibbering puppets, Emet-Selch was not, as clearly as you.” Ah, her Hades...Yes. Even enthralled, he remained the man her soul remembered. 

“If we take as truth his claim that Hydaelyn and Zodiark are primals--which I am inclined to--they operate by different rules from the ones we know. You are far from a puppet. You can control the powers she’s given you.”

Sahri gazes up towards the Greatwood’s canopy, taking in the sight of the stars dotting the night sky. How similar it was to the aetherial sea…

“Perhaps there is some truth to that,” Sahri concedes. “And yet...recall the full extent of what he told us. He stated plainly he was not completely immune from the effects of Zodiark’s enthrallment.” There is a pause before Y’shtola speaks again. 

“Are you, then?” She clearly does not want to ask the question...but knows she must. “Affected?” Tears roll down Sahri’s face once more.

“ _ Gods _ , yes,” she cries. “I can  _ feel _ her tug at my soul, Shtola.” She shakes the tears away, looking at Y’shtola once more. Under her resolve, Sahri sees a face consumed by sorrow. “The first time I saw her...Looked upon that mountain of crystal...I was instantly seized with a single, unifying thought. ‘She is a goddess. Righteous and worth following.’” 

Y’shtola’s gaze slowly migrates downwards. Her voice is weak. “Oh, Sahri…”

“I had no reason to be suspicious of her at the time,” Sahri continues. “Why would I? She guided me to protect people from evil, into the arms of the Scions, to defend Eorzea against Garlemald…Every bit the righteous goddess, one whose power I gladly channeled.” She chews at her lip. 

“Lady Lukah raised me with the utmost reverence and respect for Nophica. You may recall I was a priestess, of sorts, before becoming an adventurer. To me, this all seemed perfectly natural--a goddess providing her people with protection, prosperity, peace. And maybe that is all Hydaelyn wishes for. I wouldn’t know. She’s never provided me with more than half-truths.”

“Then...when did you begin to doubt?” Y’shtola asks, raising her head.

“...I began to fear something was amiss as we learned more of the Echo’s nature in the wake of Gaius’s defeat,” Sahri explains. “But the real straw that broke the dhalmel’s back was…” Sahri hugs herself at the memory. “Minfilia.” Y’shtola’s eyes grow wide, and there is a fury burning behind them.

“You do not mean to suggest Minfilia’s hand was forced.” It was not a question. 

“No...No.” Y’shtola calms, and Sahri lets out a sigh. “Though there was a time I feared as much. Thancred can attest to that.”

“Thancred?” More than anything, Y’shtola sounds...confused. “You’ve spoken with Thancred about this?” Sahri shakes her head.

“Only once...years ago, in a moment of desperation.” A small smile rises to her face. “Minfilia...Thankfully, she proved me wrong. She was not strung up like the puppets I faced in the Antitower. Her choices were her own--to the very last.” Sahri places a hand over her heart. “Knowing that...helps me find peace.”

“...Me, as well,” Y’shtola adds. “Yet I am afraid I am not quite following your logic. If Minfilia retained control of her actions, what exactly sowed disquiet in you?” Sahri takes a breath. She’d have to pick through some particularly sore memories for this. 

“It was the face she made,” Sahri says, grasping onto her robe. Y’shtola tilts her head. “When...you and Thancred held off our pursuers in Ul’dah, and Minfilia stopped in her tracks, saying she’d heard the Mother’s voice...I looked back, and her expression...it was one I recognized perfectly. That...that mix of awe, reverence, duty...submission. Exactly...Exactly how I felt when I came face-to-face with Hydaelyn.” Y’shtola stays silent, expression inscrutable, so Sahri continues.

“You see, even if it’s your own choice, in the end...Hydaelyn has a way of being very  _ persuasive _ . Something about the way she speaks, it demands you give her words a fair chance. And a second. And a third...To make a conscious choice requires you to very deliberately push your emotions away--the emotions she fills you with.” Sahri is heartened to see understanding slowly creep onto Y’shtola’s face. “It...is difficult to say no to her. I certainly never have, though it’s been a few years…”

“A Sharlyan ethicist could write a book on the freedom of that single choice,” Y’shtola remarks. “That is not my field of expertise, but I can certainly see why the question troubles you.” The woman sighs. “Even if it is...difficult to swallow.” 

“Shtola…” Sahri embraces the woman, horror at the subject balanced by the comfort of finally confiding in her love. “Thank you...for believing me. Once Minfilia was gone, I long feared...the Scions would think me paranoid if I expressed these concerns.”

“None of your burdens are ones you must bear alone,” Y’shtola reminds her. “Not a one.” 

“...I-It was terrifying, Shtola,” Sahri stammers out. “Seeing Minfilia reborn as “The Word of the Mother” for the first time. When she explained what had happened, something inside me thought…’What a noble cause she’s given herself to. I should be prepared to serve the Mother with the same devotion.’ But...That wasn’t what I truly felt--not at all!” She trembles, Y’shtola’s embrace providing her all the support she could need. 

“I found it horrifying, what had become of her. I couldn’t see the woman I’d fallen in love with--not that day, likely thanks to my own fear. The idea of me being subjected to the same…filled me with dread. Yet that voice of justification lingered. It’s never left me. That...that must be her voice! The voice of enthrallment…” Sahri finds concern in Y’shtola’s eyes, but no answers. 

“My instinctive pulse of hate when looking upon an Ascian, urging me forward...The humility and joy I felt when I was first called the Warrior of Light...It’s her. It must be her…” Y’shtola’s grip on Sahri tightens. “I fear...I fear that I may only retain my will because she allows it. If she wanted to wrest complete control...What would stop her? She’s already seeped into my very essence. Her voice is so sweet...So sweet, Y’shtola. She could force me to serve her every whim, even in defiance of all I hold dear. She could turn me into nothing more than a mindless monster. She could make me...Shtola, she could make me…”

_ Sahri’s stomach twists in shock and disgust as she looks upon the woman crouching in the newly opened cage. She cradles a bundle of rock as she would a child, muttering to herself. _

_ “Loohn Gah…” she coos. “Loohn Gah…” _

“I sincerely do not believe that will happen,” Y’shtola tells her, pulling Sahri back as to make eye contact. There’s no doubt on her face.

“You...don’t?” Sahri asks, nervously. “Do you trust Hydaelyn’s intent, then?”

“Heavens, no.” Y’shtola’s plain admission surprises Sahri, giving her no small amount of relief. “When the Scions have reunited, we must all have a serious conversation about how to consider Hydaelyn and Zodiark in the context of the primal threat. But speaking on my own, before then… I do not believe Hydaelyn could seize your will if she tried.”

“T...truly?” Sahri asks, surprise only growing. 

“Truly,” she says with confidence. “I know you, Sahri Rhoshaan. If she came for your mind, you would not meekly accept it. You would resist. You have refused to yield before any enemy you’ve faced. You maintained your body with sheer determination through what would have made ten thousand sin eaters of a lesser woman. It was a trying experience, but remember--you succeeded. You overcame it. You conquered that light, and I believe with full conviction that you would conquer hers.”

Y’shtola tangles their fingers together. “Know this. If the day came where Hydaelyn’s actions took a malicious turn, and you rose to stand against her...I would not hesitate to take to your side. I believe in the strength of your conviction. I believe in you, moonbeam.”

Sahri’s emotions overwhelm her as tears begin to fall. Y’shtola’s love...was something of majesty. Something that struck warmth deep, deep inside of her. If the woman had any one talent, it was drying up Sahri’s wells of hopelessness. Gods...Gods, there was still so much for her. Gods, she was loved, here and now. She was loved...How could she have ever forgotten…?

“Thank you,” Sahri whispers, tears silently falling. “Thank you…”

Y’shtola smiles at her, squeezing her hand and allowing her to work through her tears. When they eventually subside, she speaks once more. 

“Do you recall, Sahri?” she asks. “Why it was I started calling you ‘moonbeam?’” Sahri’s smile finds its way home to her face. She giggles. 

“I believe I made a declaration that would send Urianger blushing.” Y’shtola laughs, loud and free. 

“Indeed,” she says, “yet that did not erase its truth. The light you wield, it is ‘the gentle light of the moon and stars which gives the night form.’ You are the moon’s keeper, true to your heritage.” She seems proud of her witticism. 

“The light which gives the night form…” Sahri repeats. The light which brought the sunless sea…

“It is clear no amount of research or statistics will help you free yourself from this fear of light you’ve developed,” Y’shtola states. “So perhaps this may: you are a Warrior  _ of _ Light, not a Warrior  _ for _ Light. A subtle distinction, but a vital one. When you witnessed the tyranny of light’s grip in this realm, you did not hesitate to stand against it.” Of light, rather than for light. She...She supposed Y’shtola did have a point…

“Or, if you wish to forsake that title altogether--and I would not blame you--you have just as valid a claim to be called a Warrior of Darkness,” she continues. “You allow darkness to thrive in the harmony of light’s counterbalance--creating beautiful sights like the one you see above us.” Her smile shifts into a smirk. “Unless tonight’s sky is a cloudy one. That would rather defeat the impact of my message.”

Sahri laughs--heartily, echoing across the lake and around the trees. 

“Luckily, the weather is on your side,” Sahri reassures. She takes a moment to breathe deeply. “You’ve...given me much to consider, Shtola. And yet…” Her free hand clutches her chest. “You may just prove to be correct.”

“A single conversation will not suddenly lift you from years of torment,” Y’shtola reminds her. “But in this moment, you possess a precious resource--time. You should make the most of it to rebuild yourself, renew your resolve. A difficult task, to be sure, but…” She smiles fondly. “I will be here.”

Sahri’s heart swells with love. She takes Y’shtola’s hand between hers and pulls it to her chest. Her mind swirls with sentiments she yearns to express to Y’shtola--a tempest she knew could be summarized one way, and one way alone.

“I love you, Y’shtola,” Sahri tells the woman before her.

Y’shtola’s expression shifts in sequence--eyes first widening, then misting over with relief, all before narrowing once more. Warm. Wanting. 

“I missed you,” she whispers almost imperceptibly. She leans forward and pulls Sahri into a deep kiss. 

The two would not be returning to Slitherbough at a decent hour, that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My girlfriend once showed me a tweet about miqo WoL zoomies and it has lived rent-free in my head ever since


	13. Heart of Jade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She's going to get us killed one of these days...but what can I say? I love her. I forgive her. And you..."

Earth, the land on which all dwelled, the soil that served as life’s nursery...Wind, a cooling balm for the environment, the force which propelled the highways of the skies...Water, life’s foremost connector, its most vital resource...The umbral, or light, the glue that held nature together--perhaps too well, at times--and provided a stable environment for all life to follow its course. All were the fundamental elements of conjury, self-evident in the environment around and an obvious source from which to draw magicks. As a woman whose skills with the White had exceeded even those of Gridania’s foremost padjals, Sahri had long since mastered all four, could wield them with ease. Well...now that the Lightwardens’ aether no longer excluded the other elements from her system, that was.

Of course, these were far from the only integral agents of nature. Fire was a most volatile element, ever straddling a precarious balance between death and rebirth, sustenance and destruction. Lightning its close cousin, nature’s expression of its breaking point and perhaps the most viscerally terrifying of its elements. And then there was ice, water solidified into stasis as a force of the cold, an element of desolation but also preservation. These elements typically only manifested in great amounts in specific environments or circumstances, making their use in conjury much less practical. Besides, there was a reason these elements were preferred by more offensive schools of magic. While all had their benefits to nature, for a human mind--possessed of the fog of war which ever clouded its imagination--utilizing them destructively was a far more straightforward task. 

These elements were familiar to Sahri, as well. Under X’ruhn Tia’s tutelage in the Red, she had developed an aptitude for fire and lighting’s offensive use. And while she had never formally studied ice, its close relation to water made it a simple enough matter to wrap her mind around. The staff she carried these days was ice-aspected, likely leaving a trace of the element in every spell she conjured. Ysayle, ever a presence in her life, even now...While there was no real reason to do so, she likely could channel these forces through the vehicle of conjury if she so wished. Yes, all elements were within her grasp...all except one.

The astral. Darkness. It was uncommonly utilized in Eorzea, usually relegated to secretive or outright forbidden arcane traditions. Of course, it was also the element which fueled Zodiark and his Ascians, making them even more sinister and threatening in the eyes of the public. When Hydaelyn orchestrated her coup for control of the world, a world she named after herself, she’d also succeeded in a coup of public perception. Light was the moral good, darkness the moral evil--in the Source, even light’s negative effects were swept into a term tying them to darkness, and darkness’s boons ascribed to the light. Far too readily had Sahri subscribed to this school of thought before her encounter with the Warriors of Darkness--and much more directly, before arriving in the First. As Y’shtola had told her, elements had no intrinsic morality--light was not good, darkness was not evil. Nor was light evil and darkness good, as Sahri had briefly recoiled into believing after the trauma the First inflicted upon her. From the first to the last, every element was but a building block from which potentialities were born.

She knew that--she did. Darkness was as natural as any other element. So why did even the slightest command over it continue to elude her? Light’s onslaught of the First had stripped its populace of most, if not all of their prejudice towards darkness. She now lived among a people who outright worshipped it--some of the kindest and most open people she had ever known. By all means, the perfect conditions for growth--yet the darkness would still not come. She searched through nature’s aetheric flow for a pocket of dark from which to draw--even a smidgen would do. Yet to be honest, she wasn’t even certain what she was searching for. 

She understood the nature of darkness intellectually--admittedly, mainly from Urianger’s explanation of the Eighth Umbral Calamity, though she and Y’shtola had also briefly dabbled in the subject. It was the element of the active, of change--but that was all too terribly abstract. Where, exactly, did one find darkness in nature? The most obvious answers would be the darkness of night or those of deep caves and the underground. Yet there was no tangible aspect to these “darknesses”--simply a reversion to a default state in the absence of light. Even those who draw upon the power of the night sky, astrologians, focus on the light dotted within over the dark void in between. As an element, darkness was far more than that, wasn’t it? Something active, not merely an absence. She...she was getting nowhere. If anything, darkness felt even more out of reach.

“I apologize, Davith,” Sahri says with a sigh to the red-furred ronso sitting beside her. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do it. Are you certain this is viable with conjury? Perhaps we should try a different approach.” She’d wanted to assist the Blessed in making more of their holy water as recompense for her own...wasteful usage. Yet she could simply not muster the aether to do so. Perhaps Hydaelyn’s presence within her made it impossible. 

“Throughout history, many of our priests have held conjury as their foremost art,” Davith explains with a furrowed brow. “There is no reason you should not be able to do the same. Perhaps this is not a problem of technique, but instead a mental barrier…”

“Oh, Lady Lukah! What a pleasure to see you here!” Sahri turns to see the voice belongs to none other than Runar--leading a woman clearly not of the Blessed herself. “Pardon, allow me just a moment to bless our merchant friend.” Ah, that would explain it. Much as he’d done with Sahri, Runar leads the woman to a basin of holy water and asks her to kneel before saying a prayer and splashing the dark-aspected liquid over her head. “There! You are cleansed of light’s corruption. Please, feel free to conduct your business wherever you may wish--Make yourself at home in our humble village.” The man waves her off with a smile, and when she is gone, he moves to Sahri’s side and takes a seat.

“You are in training to perform our ritual of blessing?” Runar asks her with excitement. “I’m so very pleased that you took to my suggestion!” His enthusiasm is so pure of spirit that Sahri doesn’t have the heart to tell him. It seemed Davith did, however.

“Unfortunately, Lady Lukah’s success has been limited thus far,” Davith informs him. Runar’s smile does fall, but to Sahri’s relief, he does not seem upset--moreso curious. He tilts his head at Sahri, and she decides she may as well explain.

“It...has been difficult to find a source from which to draw darkness,” Sahri informs him. “I’m not certain where to look.”

“Where to find darkness? Darkness is present anywhere life thrives, abundant in its movement and change,” Davith pipes in. “When the wind changes direction, when an egg hatches into new life, when a falling rock creates a ripple in a pond--darkness is there. In a location with such a diversity of life as Rak’tika, darkness is simply overflowing. It exists between the seams of near everything.”

“I...I do believe you,” Sahri tells the man, feeling increasingly foolish--increasingly inept. “But I simply cannot pinpoint it. I...I’m starting to believe I do not possess the capacity. Strange for the Warrior of Darkness, I know...” 

“Now, now, Lady Lukah,” Runar reassures, “it is far too soon to give up. I doubt I could tell you much you do not already know of the magical arts, but if I may, I do have a suggestion.”

“Oh, certainly.” Sahri had run out of ideas. She was more than willing to listen to a fresh perspective.

“Perhaps,” he begins, “to identify darkness in the world, you must first find it in yourself.”

“In...myself?” Sahri raises an eyebrow, prompting Runar to explain further. She sees a familiar glint in his eyes--one present whenever he spoke of the Blessed’s history or traditions.

“Yes, in yourself. You see, the Blessed have long held that darkness is the most human of elements,” Runar tells her, making no effort to conceal his passion. It brought a smile to Sahri’s face. “I’m not certain how much you know about Norvrandt’s history before the Flood, but in those days, darkness was reviled. As such, it was mainly utilized by those on society’s margins--those shunned and turned away by the public. This, of course, only furthered its negative perception…”

“Hmmm...It’s much the same in my homeland, actually.” Sahri taps her cheek thoughtfully--a habit she’d begun picking up from Y’shtola. It made sense that the First’s culture towards light and darkness was similar to the Source’s...before nature’s balance was thrown dramatically off-course.

“Ah! Now that I think about it, Master Matoya also said as much, once. Good, good--that makes this simpler.” Runar shifts, placing his hands on in his knees. “Men and women at society’s edge gravitated towards the dark because of their own tempestuous emotions--fundamentally, all human emotions are an expression of the dark. All emotions--rage and pain, yes, but also joy. Love.”

“Love...is an expression of darkness?” Sahri scrunches her face and tilts her head trying to process that. It...was certainly a new idea to her. 

“Yes--the dark fuels and is embodied by feeling. Consider this.” He subconsciously leans forward. “Why were sin eaters named as such? Because they have one driving desire--conformity. To erase the diversity of life, the imperfections which give it value, and bring all into their fold.” Hmm...Sahri had to admit...that actually made some sense. If light was stasis, stability, it followed that its extreme would be absolute conformity. In excess, light stripped traits that amounted to one’s fundamental humanity. Meaning…

Runar smiles at the growing recognition on Sahri’s face. “You see? Sin eaters strive to bring all to sickly white--and as beings of light, darkness is their opposite. In overabundance, darkness is naught more than chaos, which is why civilizations of old were wary of it. But that chaos is what makes darkness so valuable--what births different cultures, different races, different relationships. And yes, love. To embrace the dark is to embrace your very humanity--that, above all else, is why the Blessed worship it so.”

And how could they not, put like that? In Runar’s telling, the dark was what gave nature, gave life its beauty--and Sahri was finding herself beginning to agree. Come to think of it...Voidsent were, in many ways, sin eaters’ counterparts in the dark. Equally as monstrous...yet markedly different creatures. How wide a diversity of appearance and form the voidsent possessed--not to mention, many of the more powerful were driven by distinct wills. Consumed by a driving emotion--be it greed, pride, lust, a pursuit for power. Yes...how did she ever miss this? Darkness and emotionality were inextricable. While Sahri had always respected the Blessed’s people and traditions, found much comfort in Slitherbough’s dark...For the first time, she’s starting to understand  _ why _ the Blessed believe what they do, beyond a simple fear of the light.

“Deep in thought, Lady Lukah?” Sahri opens her eyes--Runar is beaming at her. She can’t help but smile back. 

“Yes...Your passion inspires that,” Sahri tells him. Runar rubs the back of his head. “So, to make sure I have this right, your suggestion is to...tap into my emotions and learn what darkness looks like?”

“Precisely! If you are struggling to channel darkness, it is possible that you have developed a habit of stifling those emotions--stifling your own humanity.” Oof. That...was closer to the mark than she wished it was. “Reestablish that connection with your magic. There is no guarantee, but perhaps it will help.”

“It is worth a try. Thank you, Runar.” 

Sahri holds her hand out in front of her and concentrates her flow of aether to its end. Her emotions, then? Those...had been most overwhelming, as of late. But she supposed there was no harm in recognizing them. Pain, regret...they haunt her. Sahri’s lip quivers when her Hades’ face flashes in her mind. No...she must remember. Must face this man who had become a mainstay of her psyche. Gods, he had ruined her--yet he was also the man who had made her whole in the first place. What an agonizing thing it was, to remember. She hated Hades, hated herself...and also loved him. Her love intensified the pain of his loss all the more, but it was a warm emotion, more than worth feeling. 

Love...he was not the only one who had spurred it in her, of late. Oh, Shtola...What a beautiful partner she made. Unflinchingly standing by her side, yet never giving her the easy way out...She was someone Sahri had needed for a long while. Looking back, it was shocking she’d not developed feelings for the woman years ago--but perhaps its lateness was what allowed their love to bloom to such maturity in a short span. Y’shtola...she could no longer ponder a life without the woman at her side. Even imagining the way she smiled at her made Sahri’s heart well with warmth. She was proud--so overwhelmingly proud that Y’shtola had considered her worthy to be her love. 

Hate, joy, suffering, pride, pain...love. These emotions and more all embodied Sahri’s soul in this moment. It was a profound relief to acknowledge as much. All of it, she channeled into her body’s flow of magic. If all this was the dark...then dark must come forth.

“Lady Lukah!” she hears Runar cry in excitement. “I knew you would be able to do it!” 

Sahri slowly opens her eyes and lifts her head from its bowed position. She is greeted by a familiar sight in a most unfamiliar location. Around her hand swirls a chaotic, ever-shifting aura of blacks and purples--darkness. She’d...she’d found darkness. Runar leans forward to wipe trails of wetness from underneath her eyes--Ah. A result of her little introspection, no doubt. She mouths “thank you” before looking towards Davith, who wears an impressed smile. 

“Very good!” he commends her. “That is a truly laudable flow of dark aether. Thank you for your suggestion, Runar. Might you be able to pinpoint darkness in the environment now, Lady Lukah?”

Sahri raises her other arm beside the first and closes her eyes once more, reaching out to nature with this new reference point. What she sensed caused her to gasp--the landscape had been born anew. Woven between every crevice, every clashing of different elements, every motion and change...There it was. The dark. The same dark present in her own soul. Darkness...was the very awe she’d always found in nature, she realized--the engine which drove other elements to create life. How beautiful it was...She easily channels nature’s dark to her own body. When she opens her eyes, the full length of both her forearms are surrounded by that swirling black. Runar and Davith watch on, wide-eyed.

“Your mastery of magic never ceases to impress, Lady Lukah,” Runar tells her, sounding delighted. 

“I would have to agree--priests with years of training are not able to conjure so much of the dark,” Davith nods with respect. 

Sahri smiles, sighing in satisfaction. “It...it feels wonderful to channel this,” Sahri says to no one in particular. “Harnessing emotion as strength...Unbound, free…”

“As true as that is, Lady Lukah, it is admittedly a far greater quantity than we require for our purposes,” Davith reminds her.

“Ah...Right.” Enchanting the water was a simple blessing...She stymies the darkness’ flow, shrinking its presence to wisps in the palms of her hands.

“Do you recall the prayer you must recite?” Davith asks her. She nods. It was relatively short and to the point, efficient and modest as all of Slitherbough’s customs. She holds her hands palm-down above the water before her.

“O, blessed dark,” she begins. “We beseech your aid. In dark, there is tranquility. In dark, there is hope. In dark, there is life. Transform these waters to those of the sunless sea, that we might ward light’s encroaching presence from your most devoted. For this, we pray. May we ever follow in night’s wake.” She glances towards Davith--his smile indicating she hadn’t forgotten anything. Thank goodness.

“Excellent!” he praises. “Only one more step--the act of imbuing the blessing. Place your hands to the water’s surface and release the aether within. You must be mindful not to oversaturate the water--ensure the dark finds relatively equal distribution throughout. This is a delicate balance, and for a majority of our priests-in-training is by far the most difficult step of the process to master. Something tells me, however, it will not be so difficult for you.”

Sahri chuckles. “We shall see.” She does as Davith instructs, her palms pressed just against the water, and begins to release the darkness she’d channeled. She is conscious to let it flow at a measured pace, aiming its direction not only directly downwards but in a field radiating through the basin. She isn’t quite certain when to stop, so she errs on the side of caution and pulls her hands away after only a few seconds.

“Done?” Davith asks. Sahri nods. “Allow me to inspect it, then…” The man kneels before the jar, scrutinizing the water within. He scoops some in his hand and allows it to fall between his fingers--he smiles widely. “As I suspected. This is immaculate work. I could not have done better myself.”

Runar claps her back. “Wonderfully done, Lady Lukah! Davith is not one to praise idly.” 

“Indeed,” Davith confirms. “Lady Lukah--I must discuss the matter with the other priests, but I believe you have the potential to become one of our foremost priestesses of the dark.” A priestess? Hah. Sahri can’t help but smirk at the irony. “Next, we should--”

The man is cut off by a loud growl--that of a desperate stomach. Not Sahri’s own, to her relief. Davith scratches his cheek, somewhat embarrassed.

“Ah...I believe I may have neglected to eat lunch, today,” the man confesses. 

“Please, prepare yourself something. I’m more than satisfied with the outcome of this lesson,” Sahri reassures. “Thank you for your assistance, Davith.” 

The man stands and gives her a slight bow. “Of course. Til next our paths cross, Lady Lukah. Runar.” He gives them a wave before making his exit. Sahri turns towards Runar, the two now alone in the cave. 

“To think we now have holy water blessed by the Warrior of Darkness herself…” Runar muses. “The next time we receive a traveler, I will be certain to make use of this gift.” 

Sahri smiles at him, and her eyes trail back to the water. Hmm...She couldn’t help but wonder. She dips her hand inside, and surely enough, she feels a familiar tingle on her skin. Naturally, learning to channel the dark as her own would not suddenly nullify Hydaelyn’s hold on her. Yet it was a satisfying act of rebellion, nonetheless. ...Why, then...did she feel a pang of guilt gnawing at her? She considers the water once more. It was not nearly long enough ago she had been obsessed with its cleansing “power.” Not nearly long ago she had made an embarrassment of herself, in front of all Slitherbough...

...Ah. That was it. She splashed herself with this water day upon day, despite only now beginning to genuinely understand why the Blessed believed what they did. She merely sought it out for shortsighted comfort--a quelling of personal anxieties and traumas. Abuse was the only word for it--abuse of the Blessed’s traditions. She’d made a mockery of them, of the very people who took her in at her lowest...And now? She was invited to participate in the enactment of the same sacred tradition...And all she could think about was her own personal satisfaction. A priestess of the Blessed? The idea honestly delighted her, but she did not trust that delight. She hardly believed she still deserved to walk among them, to be accepted as one of their number…

“Is something troubling you, Lady Lukah?” Runar’s voice breaks Sahri’s self-destructive line of thought. Right. This was not a time to be lost in her own mind.

“No, nothing important. My apologies.” She’d discuss this with Y’shtola later. “Have you eaten, yourself, Runar? I’d be glad to prepare something for you if not.” 

Runar shakes his head. “Ah, no no no. Your offer is most kind, but I have already attended to that.” Hmm...The man was never skilled at concealing his emotions, and at the moment, nervousness was written all over his face. He shifted in his seated position, occasionally darting his eyes away from hers...

“Is something troubling  _ you _ , Runar?” she asks. His eyes widen in surprise. 

“Troubling me? I...did want to ask you something, admittedly.” 

“Of course.” Sahri smiles at him. “Ask away.”

“Would…” he begins, hesitantly. “Would you like to go hunting together, today? Our food stocks could use some bolstering, and I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to stretch your legs.”

Sahri blinks a few times before bursting into a laugh. “That’s all? Oh, Runar. I’d be glad to.” She hops to her feet and extends a hand to him, watching his eyes brighten. “I’ve been sitting for far too long, anyhow. Allow me a quick change of attire, and I’ll be ready to go as soon as you are.” Runar takes Sahri’s hand, and she pulls him to his feet.

“Then let us be away, Lady Lukah!”

………………………………………………………………………………

“Ah...If I may say, you make a most dignified warrior of the Blessed, Lady Lukah.”

“You think so?” Sahri asks her ronso companion, briefly posing with the spear she carried. That earns a small chuckle.

“I do, in fact,” he tells her. “Our people’s traditional clothing suits you well. My heart swells to twice its size to see you--our Warrior of Darkness--clad in such attire. You should consider wearing it more often.”

“Your ‘heart’, hm?” Sahri raises an eyebrow. “And I imagine your preference has no relation to the increased skin on display?” Runar’s jaw drops, and Sahri can’t help but grin.

“Th-th-that is not...I-I would  _ never _ \--!” Runar stammers, absolutely mortified. “I assure you, I hold--I hold nothing more than the utmost respect for you, Lady Lukah!” Sahri bursts into laughter. The man was far too easy to rib. 

“Stay yourself, Runar. I’m merely teasing.” At her explanation, Runar near falls over with relief.

“Wicked white...You had me worried, friend.” 

Thus far, the two’s “hunt” had not much of a hunt at all--they had been much too loud for that. Instead, it was more of a casual stroll with weapons in tow--a bow for Runar and a spear for Sahri. Practical weapons suited hunting much more than the magical arts. As Runar had observed, Sahri opted to exchange her robes for the far more mobile clothing the Blessed’s women typically wore. A small, loose top--deep blue, in her case--covering only the essentials, fingerless gloves with a net pattern up half the forearms, and a long, black skirt tied with a sash. While not exactly necessary for hunting, she’d even included the typical adornments--two pairs of armlets, a silver pendant hanging off of the top, and long feathers tied to the sash. She’d dressed for action, and while conversation was enjoyable, she would be loath to return to Slitherbough empty-handed.

“Perhaps we should start getting serious about this,” Sahri tells Runar. His smile shifts to something more neutral, and he nods. 

“Of course,” he agrees. “It is high time that we did.” 

A higher vantage might suit them well, Sahri thinks, so she stealthily climbs a tree before them. She hides herself in its foliage and casts her gaze around the area.

“How do you manage to do that so silently?” Runar asks her in a quiet voice. 

Sahri shrugs. “Being lightweight has its advantages.” 

“Ahhh…” He nods in understanding. “That would indeed be of assistance. If you’d only brought a bow instead of a spear, you could fell our prey without ever having to leave your perch.”

“A bow, hm?” Sahri smiles as she continues to scan the environment. Memories of the Twelveswood bubbled into her mind. “The group of mystel from which I descend has a long and proud tradition of bowmanship, actually. Though I never chanced to pick up the skill myself. When I decided to learn to wield a practical weapon, I gravitated towards the lance instead.”

“Alas,” Runar laments. “Though it is never too late to pick up a new skill--especially for a woman of your talent. It may well prove valuable one day.”

“That is true,” she concedes. “You never know when a bow may come in handy.” All thoughts of casual conversation fade from Sahri’s mind when her eyes finally lock on a target. Two boars had wandered into her line of sight, dead ahead. She holds out a hand to Runar, quieting him, and quietly slinks back down the tree. 

“Two boars, a few hundred fulms to the northeast on the other side of those bushes,” she whispers. 

The two slowly stalk towards their prey, and as they crouch behind the bushes, Sahri is pleased to see the boars are still lazily lounging about. She nods at Runar, who readies his bow and aims at the leftmost hog. She takes hold of her spear and prepares to lunge at the one on the right. She hears Runar loose his arrow and, in an instant, springs into action. 

As soon as her target hog sees its companion fall, it breaks into a sprint. Unfortunately for it, Sahri is faster. Running behind it, Sahri leaps into the air and comes down upon the creature with a dive, killing it instantly. ...Or so she thought. Apparently, her aim had been a bit sloppy. The creature falls to its side when she withdraws her spear, and Sahri watches its eyes dart frantically around--searching for some way, any way to escape its last moments. Sahri’s grip on her spear grows weak and the weapon clatters to the ground, horror rising to her face. She cannot look away when the creature gives its dying gasp, the life fading forever from its eyes.

Sahri’s entire body shakes as her mind is bombarded by a torrent of images. Of faces. Thordan and the entire Heaven’s Ward, looking upon her as they would a demon. Livia sas Junius, her helmet replaced with a visage all too similar to Lucia’s. Innocence, with his naive terror and genuine belief in his own righteousness. Zenos yae Galvus, surrendering himself to a woman he deemed a worthy rival to his bloodlust--and a worthy successor. Hades...Hades, and his smile...All their faces and more swirl around her in a chorus of gasps and screams. Including hundreds, nay, thousands of faces whose names she’d forgotten, or worse, never known in the first place. A procession of Garlean soldiers, men and women of Eorzea’s “beast tribes,” Temple Knights, Crystal Braves, the pitiable thralls of the countless primals she’d faced...Sahri glances at her hands. The hog’s blood had splashed onto them. Her knees give and she buries her face in them, weeping. 

By the Twelve, what a monster she was. Perhaps she did have the capacity to heal, to help those in need, but what was that compared to the uncountable lives she’d claimed? Hades’ face returns to her mind, accompanied by a familiar pair of screams--Nabriales and Igeyorhm. She had not been able to see their faces as they died, but oh, had she heard them. Those two...for all the evil they had committed, they were...they were like her, she realized. Lost, fragmented souls yearning for a past long gone. Yearning to be whole once more. They wanted to remember as much as she...She could have been them, had she made different choices. Had she taken his hand. Had she known their complete selves, back in Amaurot? Did they recognize her? Understand her betrayal? Know her name? The pain of loss weighing on her soul multiplied. Self-inflicted loss. Gods, what else had she done without realizing? What  _ was _ she…?

“L-Lady Lukah! Are you injured?” Sahri turns her head to see Runar dashing towards her, his own hog now strapped to his back. Her tears don’t stop flowing, so she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. 

“No...No, I’m not hurt,” she tells him weakly. Runar kneels before her, looking from her to the hog she’d slain, and confirms as much himself. Seeing the blood she’d smeared on herself, he takes a small canteen and slowly pours it on her to wash it away. She shudders at the coolness, but does not resist. The tears swept away are soon replaced by more. 

“Is...is the death of this animal causing you anguish, my friend?” Runar asks her. Ah...There were few other conclusions he could draw from the situation.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” she tells him. “I’m not...I’m not usually like this...You know that.” She’d hunted for the Blessed many times before--she’d never been so emotional over an animal’s death since she was a little girl. Perhaps her earlier communion with the dark had put her a bit  _ too _ in touch with her innermost feelings. 

“No, no. Pray do not apologize,” Runar reassures her. He unstraps the hog from his back and sets it on the ground before taking a seat next to her. He gently guides her to a seated position as well, a comforting hand lingering on her back. What a kind man...If only he knew. 

“Lady Lukah,” he continues, “it would be more concerning if you felt nothing upon taking another life. Even one belonging to a common hog. You are possessed of a most loving heart.”

“I...I suppose…” That didn’t make her feel much better, admittedly. Apparently Runar can tell, as he briefly closes his eyes in reflection and begins to speak once more.

“When guilt like this begins to close in on me, I try to remind myself of the reason that life needed to be taken,” he explains. “Take this hog, for example.” He gestures towards the animal Sahri slew. “With its life, it will feed a large number of our people--sustenance we need to survive. We are not overhunting them into oblivion, as some cultures are wont to do. We of the Blessed take what we need--no more, no less. You may take comfort in that fact.”

“...You’re right, of course,” Sahri concedes. People needed to eat, and Slitherbough had always done so sustainably. “The Blessed’s respect for nature’s balance is admirable.” 

“And, as one of us, you are a part of that respect, Lady Lukah,” Runar insists. Sahri only smiles sadly. “...Though I am starting to suspect that the hog is not what truly troubles you.” Right he was. She...she may as well push through her hesitance and admit as much. Runar was understanding, a true friend. She could trust him. 

“No,” she tells him, shaking her head. “The lives that haunt me are a much more human variety.” Runar’s face fills with sorrow and sympathy. 

“Oh, Lady Lukah...I understand. I truly do.” The man hangs his head. “I still can recall the first time I took a man’s life, in one of our skirmishes with the Children. Shot an arrow dead into his heart. I was a young man, and utterly unprepared for the emotion that followed. Oh, how I trembled.” 

“Your first…” Sahri racks her own mind, yet comes up short. She lets out a small, bitter laugh. “I wish I could say I remembered mine, but that would be a lie. One kill blends into the next all too easily…”

“I see…” Runar sounds apologetic. “Perhaps it was wrong of me to say I understood, then. I cannot imagine how many stood in the way of your quest to return the night, forcing you to strike them down...Nor the number conflicts you took part in before becoming the Warrior of Darkness.”

“Too many,” Sahri whispers, screwing her eyes shut. “Too many.” Runar rubs her back in slow circles.

“The path of a hero is a trying one, indeed…” Runar smiles at her. “The heroes of the Blessed’s history I’ve found most inspiring were not merely the ones who achieved the greatest feats in battle. Rather, I was drawn to heroes who balanced that with a legacy of their own humanity--tales of their kindness, an impact left on their community. You are well on track to match the best of them. You are unfailingly human, Lady Lukah. Unfailingly kind.”

“Human?” Sahri asks in disbelief. “No woman could wreak the destruction I have--No woman could even dig graves for all those I’ve killed. Not before her back gave out. I can no longer claim to be a woman. I am…”

“Whatever you are about to say, you are wrong,” Runar tells her with a firm tone. “Such numbers are but a reflection of the gravity of the burdens you have taken on your shoulders. Tell me truly--on your path, have you ever killed one who did not threaten the lives of others? Have you ever taken a life which, in the moment, you genuinely believed there was no other option to pacify?”

“I…” Sahri pauses. She was struggling to think of an example. “I suppose...I always have done what I thought might save even more lives. But I have been led astray on that matter, before…” Her fists clench thinking of the “heretics” she slew in Snowcloak and beyond. “And...and there were certainly times I was reckless, or careless...Times that my tactics could have been…”

“It is far too easy to look back and consider how events may have proceeded differently with your current perspective,” Runar gently chides. “Much more difficult is growing from such and looking forward. Tell me, Lady Lukah--in the circumstances you discovered you walked the wrong path, what did you do?”

“...Turned my lance towards the true foe,” Sahri admits. “Make amends for the damage I caused. See her--” Sahri’s voice breaks when a pair of icy blue lips flash through her mind. “See...their will through to the very end.”

Runar smiles widely. “I knew that would be the case. This is my point, Lady Lukah. A beast slays with no regard for the suffering they leave in their wake. A woman, on the other hand, remembers the lives she’s taken and weeps. Just as you are now. A Warrior of the Dark, through to her heart. 

“I-I…” Sahri’s tears intensify, lip quivering. No arguments rise to her mind. Runar surprises her by suddenly hugging her to his chest. Oh...that was comforting. The feeling reminded her of cuddling with the small stuffed bear Lady Lukah had given her as a child. She hugs him back.

“One day, you’ll take up the path of the hero once more, I am certain,” he continues. “And I know without a doubt that you will show the same kindness and resolve you have shown our people. It is simply part of who you are. If you grow weary, remember that all of Slitherbough will gladly accept you into our arms once more. You are one of our own--Slitherbough will ever be your home.”

“I-I don’t deserve--” is all Sahri can manage to choke out between her tears. She wanted to scream that she was a fraud--that she abused their traditions, their gentle hospitality for her own sake. That she delivered no souls to the sunless sea. That she had forsaken the right to call Slitherbough her home from the very beginning. Instead, she cries, voice silent.

“You do, Lady Lukah,” Runar reassures. “Heed my words. Decades from now, when the Blessed remember the Warrior of Darkness, they will not simply tell stories of a woman powerful enough to slay the most monstrous embodiments of light. They will sing of how she suffered, the tears she shed, how she found her strength once more with Slitherbough’s love--and that her struggle made her our truest hero of all. I promise you, I will make it so. The Blessed will not forget any part of you.”

Runar...Oh, Runar...Her hold on him tightens and Sahri buries her face in his shoulder. She had not the will to deny herself this comfort. Instead, she leans into it, allowing herself this small moment of forgiveness……

…………………………………………………………………………………………

“Open wide, moonbeam.” 

Y’shtola and Sahri sit on a log in Slitherbough’s central green, bodies pressed together in front of one of its cooking pots. The sky above them sparkled with stars, and this was one night Sahri was beside herself with glee. Y’shtola had gone through the trouble to gather makeshift ingredients for one of Sahri’s favorite treats--miq’abobs. She held the result before Sahri’s face, and the woman eagerly snatched it from her hands.

“Mmmm...Don’t mind if I do,” she says before setting to work devouring her meal. Oh, delicious...Y’shtola had made sure to mix in some of Sahri’s favorite mushrooms between the pork and other ingredients to create a delectable medley of flavor. Hardly a minute passes before nothing but the stick holding the meal together remains. Sahri wipes her face and turns back to Y’shtola. The woman is smiling, and upon realizing Sahri is looking at her, she shakes her head in exasperation. 

“Such an appetite, you have.” She leans into Sahri’s ear and whispers. “I’ve half a mind to put that to use, later.” 

Sahri giggles, cheeks pink. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea...Though, I may want a few more miq’abobs first.” The two laugh together this time, and Y’shtola pulls Sahri’s head to rest on her shoulder. Sahri hugs the woman, her heart rate slowing...utterly at ease. She sighs pleasantly as Y’shtola’s fingers trace patterns into her scalp.

“...I meant to ask, Lukah,” Y’shtola starts after a few minutes, tone more serious. Sahri rises to meet her eyes. “Runar informed me that you became...emotional during your hunting trip, earlier. Are you feeling well now?”

“Ah...Right.” Sahri felt no small amount of embarrassment about the episode. “I did, but...he comforted me. And...helped me sort a few things out in my mind, I think…” She smiles. “He’s a wonderful man.”

“A rare breed,” Y’shtola agrees.

The smile fades from Sahri’s eyes. “That...is why I must apologize to him.”

“Apologize?” Y’shtola frowns at her. “Whatever for?”

When she realizes that she has done wrong, she must look forward and change, Runar had reminded her. That is why...he would be the first she apologized to for how she’d used the Blessed’s culture. She could think of fewer more passionate about their traditions than he…And after all he promised her, she needed to set the record straight.

“Well, never mind,” Y’shtola says, breaking her thoughts. “I suspect I’ll hear as much directly, in short order.” 

Confused, Sahri follows Y’shtola’s gaze, only to nearly leap when she sees Runar bounding towards them. He smiles and gives them a wave when he sees the women looking, and Sahri rises to her feet to greet him. Y’shtola follows.

“Lady Lukah. Master Matoya. I trust the two of you are enjoying your meal?” He asks, arriving in front of them. 

“It’s mainly been her meal so far,” Y’shtola comments, “but yes. To what do we owe your presence? You walk with purpose.” 

“Ah...Right you are, Master Matoya,” Runar confirms. He looks towards Sahri. “It is late, so I will labor to get to the point. There is an important matter I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. Something long overdue.”

“Oh, I see,” Y’shtola says, recognition--and an unmistakable smile--in her voice. Sahri does not bother to make sense of her words, instead taking a step forward and steeling herself.

“There is something I must say to you, as well,” she tells the man, resolute. “Might I speak first?”

“Hm? Well, of course you may.” The man seems surprised, but he nods to her in confirmation. “Please, feel free to speak.” 

“Thank you.” Sahri takes a breath before looking Runar in the eyes. “Runar...I must truly, deeply apologize to you.” 

“Not for offering you a shoulder in the woods, I hope!” He shakes his head. “I would do as such for any friend of mine.”

“Not...quite,” Sahri tells him. “Though I do appreciate that. It was more...your words. You said...Slitherbough would endeavor to remember me as one of their own, that I could always consider it my home.”

“I did, and I meant it.” His expression grows increasingly worried. “Is there a problem with that?”

Sahri gives him a melancholy smile. “Please don’t misunderstand. It...made me happier than I can say. But I don’t deserve such an honor, Runar. I…” Her throat dries. “I cannot in good conscience count myself among the Blessed’s number.”

“I...I do not understand.” Runar stares at her in befuddlement, and no small amount of hurt. “Did you perhaps hear a belief expressed you did not agree with? That is no matter. We do not have a strict orthodoxy, as do the Children--we embrace a diversity of beliefs. It is our shared community which binds us together as one.”

Admittedly, that did make Sahri feel a little better about the discrepancy between the Blessed’s traditions of the sunless sea and what she knew to be true about the Lifestream. If only it were so simple.

“That may all be true…” Sahri begins. It was time. “But I have tarnished your traditions at every turn. It was not until today that I truly understood why it is that the Blessed worship the dark so. For the months before that, I…” Tears begin to fall from her eyes. “I thrust myself into your community for one reason--I was afraid. Afraid...afraid of light, and the emotional wounds which plagued me. I selfishly thought being among you would offer me some sort of protection. It was only ever about me and my own unchecked feelings. That was what led to the ultimate disgrace of your people--the incident with the holy water. I ingratiated myself among you to naught but co-opt the cherished foundations of your culture for my own short-sighted relief. For that…'' Sahri bows her head. “I could never be more sorry.”

Moments pass in silence, and Sahri’s head races with possibilities. Would he be furious with her? Or worse, disappointed? The Blessed may well want her to leave Slitherbough, now...If that was their will, she would accept it humbly. She...could find elsewhere to stay, even if few communities were so comfortable and welcoming. She...She feels a pair of arms embrace her from the back. Her Shtola’s arms.

“Is that all?” She asks. “I do wish you had spoken with me about this earlier. I would have told you how foolish such thoughts were.” 

“What?” Sahri raises her head, but instead of turning to Y’shtola her gaze catches on Runar’s expression. He smiles at her, warmly.

“Lady Lukah...You are considerate, indeed, but in this case you go too far.” He wipes the tears away from under her eyes. “Why do you believe the original Blessed formed this community, in the first place? What concerns do you think drove them?”

“Erm..” Sahri stumbles for an answer, but it seems much too obvious. “The...effects of the Flood, no doubt.”

“Precisely.” Runar’s smile grows. “Driven from the light, they instead came across the dark, and in its proximity learned its value. Like-minded individuals gathered and journeyed to Rak’tika to both worship the dark and cloak themselves in its protection. Does any of that sound familiar to you?”

“...Oh.” What Sahri had meant to be an emotional confession instead began to manifest a prickle of embarrassment. “Still...still, the water--”

Runar shakes his head. “If we judged every person by their lowest moments, there would be not a one left to stand tall. You understand the important role that darkness plays in nature’s balance, yes?”

“Absolutely,” says Sahri, clutching her chest. “Now, more than ever.”

“You have lived among us,” Runar continues. “And I do not believe for a moment that the bonds you’ve forged in our community were anything less than genuine. You’ve laughed with us, danced with us, provided for us, cared for us, defended us...embraced our hopes and joys as your own. You are an integral part of Slitherbough, and a member of the Blessed through and through. Any one of us would say the same.”

Weight flies from atop Sahri’s heart--its load had grown remarkably lighter, as of late. Between sniffles, she wipes away her tears.

“You...you truly mean that, Runar?” she asks, quietly.

“I do.” His smile stays warm.

“Then…” Sahri rallies her spirits, willing them to rise. She stands taller, a smile gracing her face. “Then...I take back what I said. Every word. I...I couldn’t be more proud to be one of the Night’s Blessed. And I will ever strive to repay the kindness you have all shown me…” 

Y’shtola’s embrace briefly tightens to a squeeze. Clearly, she is satisfied with this outcome.

“And I know you will,” Runar says with confidence. “In fact, this all ties in rather well to what I wished to discuss.”

“It..does?” Sahri tilts her head in curiosity.

“It does indeed. This was actually the same intention with which I invited you hunting, earlier--though I ended up deciding the situation wasn’t appropriate.” Runar reaches for his side and takes a pouch in his hand. “Please--I want you to have a look at something.” 

Runar turns the pouch over and empties its contents into his palm. Sahri lets out a quiet gasp. On his hand lay about a dozen round gemstones, a rainbow of colors.

“I take it you recognize what these are?” he asks.

“Heartstones…” she answers. Sahri turns to look at Y’shtola, who is smiling quite contentedly. “...Did you know about this?”

“Oh, from the very moment Runar conceived of the idea,” Y’shtola tells her. “I didn’t want to spoil his surprise.” 

“Typically, parents pick among different gemstones for the one they most believe suits their newborn,” Runar explains, drawing back Sahri’s attention. “However...In your case, I thought it would be fitting for you to choose your own.” 

“Can I really…?” Sahri reaches out towards Runar’s hand, stopping short of it. 

“It would fill me with pride for you to do so.” He extends his hand further towards her. “So...which one will it be, Lady Lukah?”

There was never any other choice, was there? Sahri reaches forward...and confidently plucks a green gemstone. She places her palms together and allows it to roll to their middle, taking in how it gleamed in the moonlight. Beautiful. It was beautiful. She hears Runar laugh.

“Jade...Of course. Master Matoya was certain you would choose that one.”

“If there is any one way you are predictable, it is in your sentimentality,” Y’shtola teases. Sahri breaks from her embrace and walks next to her, kissing her on the cheek.

“On that account, I cannot defend myself,” Sahri says with a smile. Runar slips the other gemstones back into his pouch and walks closer to the both of them. He places a hand on Sahri’s shoulder.

“Toddia would be overjoyed to know her life had affected you so,” he tells her. Sahri smiles widely, heart stirring for this girl she never knew.

“I’m glad. It’s the least I can do for her.” Sahri looks down at the gemstone again--no, her heartstone. “Is...Is that it? Just like that, it’s mine now?” 

Runar taps his cheek thoughtfully. “Here--close your hands around it.” Sahri does so, and Runar’s hands clasp around her own. He bows his head and mutters what Sahri recognizes as a prayer under his breath. When he finishes, he smiles and lifts his head up once more.

“There,” he tells her. “Now there can be no doubt.” He guides her hands to open, and once again, the jade lays between them. “This stone--it is your life now, Lukah. Cherish it.”

Cherish her life… “I will,” she promises. “I will…” She brings the stone to her lips and presses a kiss to it. In memory of a life lost--in memory of a life born anew. This was hers, and no one could take it from her. They would have to kill her to try, and damn if she’d go down without a fight. 

“Thank you…” she says, looking up. “The both of you--I can never thank you enough.” Sahri moves to give Runar a hug...and squeaks when she’s suddenly lifted into the air. 

“No, thank you, Lady Lukah!” Runar exclaims, twirling in a circle with Sahri squeezed tight to his chest. “This is a night for celebration!” Before Sahri has time to respond, he scoops her into his arms as he had once done Y’shtola, beginning to dance. Through her flustered confusion, Sahri makes out the sound of Y’shtola’s laughter.

“You’ve done it now, moonbeam. You’ll not soon escape his hold.” 

Sahri braces herself for a long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bc i'm sappy i have a platinum scarf of healing equipped on every one of sahri's glams even know it's not usually visible to represent the heartstone


	14. Dying Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sahri is presented with a chance to reclaim all she has lost. She makes her choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter in the fic, personally.

_ It was a curious thing, how the same sky could take on a dramatically different visage in the context of a new environment. The corrupted light which filled the skies of upper Kholusia was the same as she’d seen in Lakeland, in Amh Araeng and beyond, Sahri knew. Yet the rich browns and oranges of the plateau and the mountainscape beyond them gave the heavens the impression of sunset. Sunset, in a land where the sun never set...It made a fitting backdrop for the mutually agreed-upon charade that was the conversation she and the Crystal Exarch had just shared.  _

_ After only a few short steps of following the Exarch back to Amity, Sahri comes to a stop once more, caught in the image of him walking against the Kholusian landscape and sky. She’d never taken the time to simply stand there, watch how he moved, and her mind was struck by a chord of recognition. Hah...How fickle, memory was. You can forget your most vital experiences, yet something as subtle as a man’s gait could survive the test of years… _

_ It was a curious thing, how the same man could take on a dramatically different visage in the context of a new environment. Yet if one truly took the time to observe, then much like the sky, they would realize he was the same man nonetheless. The Exarch--No. She wouldn’t pretend anymore. G’raha. Her G’raha Tia...She’d not wanted to let herself believe her first love, one she’d thought long lost to her, walked beside her once more. Yet the man had all but confessed his identity to her--while maintaining the pretense he had not. It made her realize that really, she’d known all along. After all, knowing she was being lied to by a stranger would not have hurt the same way knowing Raha lied to her had.  _

_ Why had he lied? Did he continue to lie? Sahri wasn’t certain, but she couldn’t shake the feeling he was once more preparing a swift exit from her life without first consulting her feelings. That wasn’t to say she was truly angry with him--no, she could never stay angry at the man for long. Not when she knew that every decision he made, he made with care for her foremost in his heart. Gods, the way he’d spoken of her, of how she was his inspiration, of how desperately he wanted to share his life with her again...it nearly brought her to tears. Stirred a tenderness in her heart she thought died the day he’d sealed himself in the Crystal Tower. Now that the possibility was tantalizingly dangled in front of her, she...she wanted him back. What harm would it do? To simply reach out, pull back that hood, and… _

_ “This may be the last moment we have to ourselves for a while. Come, sit with me...hero.” _

_ Sahri resists the urge to bury her face in her hands. Those were the very same words the Exarch had used to invite her to conversation, but the man who uttered them could not be more different. _

_ “Of course you were listening,” she mutters just loudly enough for him to hear--or so she thought. Apparently her voice had carried further than she’d anticipated, because G’raha turns around at her words--visibly recoiling when he notices the gulf of distance between them.  _

_ “Ah--My friend,” he begins, a hint of worry in his voice. “I’d not realized you’d left my side. Is something the matter?” _

_ Sahri sighs, but she shakes her head and gives him a smile. “No, no. I...think I will stay here a bit longer, is all. Go onto Amity without me. I’ll rejoin you shortly.”  _

_ G’raha places his chin in his hand in thought. She can only assume he is looking her over under that hood. To Sahri’s immense relief, he relents.  _

_ “...As you wish. But pray do not linger for too long, Sahri. This operation could not succeed without you.”  _

_ “I’ll be there,” she reassures. _

_ Content, the man gives her a small wave before turning around and resuming his journey. Sahri watches as his form shrinks in the distance, and when she is certain there was no reasonable way a voice could reach him, she makes her way back to the rock against which the two had rested. Surely enough, there sat Emet-Selch, lounging in complete ease. Sahri folds her arms. _

_ “You believe yourself so cute at times,” she says with no shortage of annoyance.  _

_ Emet raises an eyebrow. “I believe the term you are searching for is ‘charm,’ hero. You could stand to develop more of it.” He shrugs as a sardonic smile rises to his face. “Though perhaps not. You already seem to have half the men in the realm wrapped around your finger.” _

_ Sahri sighs, but before she can think of a retort, she is blindsided by the deafening sound of glass shattering in her head. She clutches it, light stirring around her in a tempest, and her body is suddenly far too weak to curse this pitiful timing. Balance teetering, she collapses forward--yet she does not slam against the stony ground as she expects. Instead, her falling body is caught by an outstretched arm, its owner maneuvering her with surprising gentleness and propping her to sit against the rock.  _

_ With the rock as support, Sahri was able to focus on quelling the rogue light. Not now, damn it. Not while she was so close. She was so close to seeing this trial through...With a fiercely asserted will, she successfully drives the light down, exhaling in relief. Gods, she felt as if she’d been trampled by a pack of chocobo running wild, but at least she was still here. Any appetite she’d had for some indignant contest of wit with Emet had quite thoroughly evaporated.  _

_ “...Thank you,” she tells him instead, in a quiet voice. She turns her head towards him, and any amusement previously on his face was replaced by a deep frown.  _

_ “Surely,” he begins, “you could not fairly label me a pessimist if I pointed out that your quest is a doomed one.” Sahri could not, but she had to make herself believe, anyhow. _

_ “You don’t know that,” she counters weakly.  _

_ Emet narrows his eyes. “Hero, you’ve one foot in the grave with only four Wardens absorbed. You will not be able to survive a fifth.” _

_ Sahri shakes her head. “It is not over til the very last moment I gasp for breath. Many and more have died for counting me out prematurely.”  _

_ “Very well,” Emet sighs. “Til the very moment I’m proven correct, I will reserve my judgement of you and your companions. I’ve sunk too much time into this experiment to stop short, anyhow.” He shifts his gaze from her to the sky before them, and his frustration subtly eases. “Beautiful little spot for a conversation. Nostalgic. I was always fond of being able to see for malms ahead.”  _

_ “It is,” she agrees. “As a child, I watched many a sunset from the highest branch I could find, but this puts them all to shame.” _

_ “Oh?” Emet looks back towards her with the slightest smile. “Possessed of an affinity for heights, are we?” _

_ “I...I suppose I am,” she admits. “I know many are afraid of them, but I’ve always found them relaxing. The perfect place for a quiet moment…” She’s surprised to hear a quiet laugh from Emet. _

_ “It’s the smallest resemblances which catch me the most unaware...”  _

_ Sentiment fills his voice as he turns his gaze back towards the sky. Sahri’s heart squeezes tight, knowing what he must mean. There was a genuine, if distant affection in his eyes...Oh, how many times had they sat together like this, she wondered, gazing into the horizon...? Sahri considers whether it would be appropriate to lean against Emet’s shoulder...and realizes she doesn’t actually care what the answer is, doing so regardless. He does not acknowledge her, but neither does he make any effort to move her away.  _

_ It’s comfortable, resting like this. Admittedly, even more comfortable than she’d been in her conversation with Raha, for all his sweetness. With Emet...she knew what she was getting. And while he was still hesitant to broach certain subjects, the weight of secrecy was far less intense--accompanied with a promise that it would one day be lifted. She sighs happily, nuzzling deeper against the man’s shoulder and cautiously, experimentally hugging his arm against her. A few short months ago, she might have recoiled at the idea of being so vulnerable with Emet, yet now, she only wished to fall into him deeper.  _

_ As she gazes on into the false sunset, her weariness begins to creep up on her. Exhaustion from the battles she’d waged in Kholusia, the disturbing revelations about Eulmore’s true nature, even the menial labor required to rebuild the Ladder...Keeping track of inventory was already a difficult enough task on its own for one inexperienced with numbers. Doubly so while a monstrous force screamed for control of your body from the inside...The light had taken its toll on her, and no amount of “treatment” from Y’shtola and Ryne could fully prevent that. Sahri’s eyelids droop. Rest...If she could get even a little rest before… _

_ “Sickeningly adorable as this sight may be, I did not come here to give you a place to nap, hero.” _

_ Sahri jolts upright and rubs at her eyes. “R-right...Right. My apologies. Much...much has happened, of late.” _

_ “They truly endeavor to wear you to the bone,” Emet laments, shaking his head in disapproval. “Have you ever considered that self-interested cretins are wont to take advantage of you and your ‘kindness?’” _

_ “...I’m used to it.” Sahri might offer a more spirited defense if she only had more energy. She sighs--this was hardly something she wished to discuss. Not now. She’d much rather surrender to her drowsiness. Gods, even without that incentive, it was tempting. “It’s little wonder the Exarch decided to nap here,” she muses.  _

_ “From what I overheard, he did not quite ‘decide’ to,” Emet points out, tipping his hand to how much of their conversation he’d eavesdropped on.  _

_ “You were listening from start to finish, I take it?” Sahri asks with a wry smile. Emet responds in kind.  _

_ “I try to ensure I’m operating with a full set of information. Especially in situations where I have precious few allies to support me.” His smile fades into something more annoyed. “Though I almost regret it, in this case. I was aware of the man’s infatuation with you, but the way he hid his slavish affections behind the pretense of anonymity was one of my more stomach-churning experiences of the last few decades. And yet, you seemed all-too-pleased by it.” His tone is scornful, and Sahri barely suppresses a small laugh. _

_ “Instead of wallowing in jealousy, you could follow Raha’s example and act the slightest bit sweeter,” Sahri teases. _

_ “‘Raha,’ you say?” _

_ Sahri’s pulse spikes, any lingering drowsiness immediately purged from her body. Damn it. She’d slipped. Allowed herself to get far too comfortable. She turns towards Emet, terror filling her face. What could she even say to recover? As she searches for words, Emet places his hand on his face and sighs.  _

_ “Oh, don’t look at me with such wide eyes,” Emet chides her. “What could I possibly do with something so meaningless as a name? I’ve long since known everything I need to about your precious ‘Raha.’” Sahri relaxes a little, but she’s not entirely convinced.  _

_ “Is that so?” Sahri asks. “And you didn’t come here to pester and pry me for more details on him and our relationship? Or, at the very least, to make a belabored point of how I cannot trust him, and how my feelings are woefully misguided? I find that hard to believe.” _

_ “No,” he says, definitive. “I did not come here for him.” He looks directly into her eyes. “I’m here for you.”  _

_ “For...me?” Sahri was surprised he’d admitted that so readily.  _

_ “Yes, for you,” he repeats. “I repurposed the Exarch’s words because they conveyed what I needed. There is little telling how events will unfold once you charge up Mt. Gulg to face Vauthry. This could well be our last opportunity to have a frank, private conversation. And…” A smile blooms on the man’s face. “I do believe there was something I promised you.”  _

_ Excitement bubbles in Sahri’s chest. Did he mean…? Part of Sahri had begun to fear that Emet never truly intended to have talk about their past. That their day in Amh Araeng had been for naught.  _

_ “You seem surprised,” he remarks, shaking his head. “I told you--I am a man of my word.” _

_ “So we are going to address the cryptic remarks you made while the Ladder was being repaired?” Sahri asks, eager to finally get some answers. _

_ “Not quite, but I suspect you’ll find this more satisfying,” he says with a smirk. “I come bearing a gift.” _

_ “A...gift.” Sahri is taken aback as Emet begins to rustle through some obscure pocket in his coat.  _

_ “You’re forcing me to repeat myself far too often, today. Trust what your ears tell you the first time around.” Before long, Emet finds what he is searching for and pulls it out for her to see. A pair of earrings, she recognizes instantly, though meant for someone at least thrice her size. They are a striking gold and violet, and Sahri finds herself instantly captivated by the shape and patterns. _

_ “These ring a bell?” Emet asks with glee.  _

_ Sahri leans forward, scrutinizing the jewelry. Upon closer inspection, she could not associate their design with that of any particular culture or historical period she was familiar with. In fact, she couldn’t even be certain of the materials. The main body of the earrings shared a color with gold, but the luster did not resemble any permutation of that metal. And the violet...the texture was far too rough and opaque to be a traditional gemstone, yet for all her experience with goldsmithing, she struggled to think of another mineral which took on this hue… _

_ The strangest part was, despite the utter foreignness of the design...gazing upon the earrings stirred a familiar warmth in Sahri. These were clearly forged by a master artisan, and the shape--like an arrow piercing through a shield--was beautifully inspired. Incredible detail had gone into crafting each and every groove and curve, creating an effect Sahri found utterly enchanting. If these earrings weren’t made for a veritable giantess, Sahri would gladly wear them around. She would...wear them. Wear them...Sahri’s eyes widen as realization slowly, inexorably dawns upon her. _

_ “Those...are mine,” she says in a low voice. “Aren’t they?” _

_ “Are they?” Emet grins widely. “Then take them.”  _

_ Cautiously, Sahri reaches out and takes the earrings from Emet’s fingers. The instant they come in contact with her skin, a strange jolt surges through her. These were no ordinary earrings--there was a certain magic about them. Not some sort of Ascian spell to control or curse her, to Sahri’s relief. Peculiar...Utterly peculiar. The only way she could think to describe it was...as if she’d been filled by a burst of *herself,* of her distilled essence. As the jewelry lay in her palms, they almost felt as if they were an extension of her very body. She...needed to know more.  _

_ “Are these...from the ancient world?” she asks, not turning her gaze from the earrings. “The world before…” _

_ “They are indeed,” Emet confirms. “One of the few surviving relics left untouched by Hydaelyn’s sundering--for I carried them on my person at the time.”  _

_ There must be a story as to why he carried them rather than her, Sahri thinks, but she suspected it was not a pleasant one. She would not broach the subject for now. Instead, she closes her eyes and focuses on the twin weights in her hands, running her fingers along the smooth violet and the patterns etched into the gold material...Sparks pop into her mind as she does. The tiniest sparks, the tiniest...memories. Incomplete fragments, but they were there. Flashes of designs which served as inspiration, alternate color schemes considered, even a small well of pride… _

_ These earrings...they were helping her remember. Remember that… _

_ “They’re...not just mine. It’s more than that.” Sahri slowly reopens her eyes, looking back towards Emet. “...I made them,” she says as the realization manifests in her mind.  _

_ “A keen insight. Bravo.” Satisfaction is written all over the man’s face. “Why not try on your handiwork?” _

_ Sahri winces at the thought. “Erm...” She glances at how the jewelry fills her palms. “Much as I would like to, my ears may not...support them.” Even the hooks were likely too thick to fit through her piercings.  _

_ “Ah. Yes. Wouldn’t want to go tearing those off, would we?” Emet snaps his fingers, and the earrings shrink to a far more suitable size. “There. No more complaints, I trust?” _

_ Sahri shakes her head, heart beating with anticipation. She carefully slides out her existing earrings and stows them safely, replacing them with Emet’s gift. The metal on her ears begets the same pleasant tingle of oneness that she felt on her hands. She...would very much like to see how they look. She turns to rustle through her effects for her compact mirror, but is interrupted when Emet holds out one of his own. _

_ “Allow me,” he tells her, alarmingly close to coming off as a gentleman. Sahri takes the compact in her hand. It is jet black, covered in ornate designs--various symbols of the Garlean Empire. Sahri glances at Emet with an amused smile.  _

_ “You carry one of these around?” she asks.  _

_ Emet scoffs. “What, did you think such fetching looks were born fully-formed from the Void?”  _

_ Sahri bursts into a hearty, genuine fit of laughter--the kind only a special few could draw from her. Through her amusement, she manages to hear a small chuckle from Emet beside her. For the briefest of instants, they are not overlooking Kholusia but an illuminated cityscape like no other, stars twinkling in the night sky above. Sahri turns to Emet. He is smiling. It’s a gorgeous smile. Her heart skips a beat, and she pulls him into a gentle kiss.  _

_ Gods, did her heart swell with love. He was right there--she was so close to having him in full, once more. To having the man she adored once more...A love that had survived countless eons, countless lives to find itself resting within her now. Sahri deepens their kiss, slowly sinking in just how precious a love like that was. She’d say they were meant to come back together, but that was wrong. No, she’d defied the very whims of self-styled gods to make her way back to him once more. How could she ever give that up…? She runs her tongue along his lips, asking for entry. She needs...she needs… _

_...What she certainly doesn’t need is for Emet to push her back by the shoulders and break their kiss, but it is what he does regardless. She looks at him, confused and pouting, and the man sighs. (That does not erase the small, amused smile he wears.) _

_ “Insatiable as always,” he says, shaking his head. “Ever are you wont to get carried away in your passions. Did you already forget the earrings? _

_ “...Ah. Right.” Emet rolls his eyes, and Sahri smiles through her embarrassment. As she opens the man’s compact, her face brightens. Oh, the jewelry sat gorgeously upon her ears. A striking contrast to her hair and a wonderful complement to her dark-toned attire. They were beautiful, rendering a hint of sophistication without stepping too far across the line into the stuffy and posh. Sahri could not stop looking at them. This was right. This was right… _

_ “You look terribly pleased,” Emet remarks, moving his head next to her own and sliding into view of the mirror. “As you should. They suit you splendidly.” Sahri’s mind buzzes with joy at the unabashed compliment. Her cheeks pinken, and she smiles widely. _

_ “I must hand it to my past self,” Sahri says, tilting her head to admire the earrings from different angles. “These may just be the finest feat of goldsmithing I’ve seen. I thought myself improving, but my skills now pale in comparison to this.”  _

_ “Goldsmithing?” Emet asks, sounding almost dumbfounded.  _

_ Sahri quirks a brow. “Well...Yes. If I created these, I must have had some talent at it. If not called goldsmithing, surely there was something similar.” _

_ Realization creeps onto Emet’s face. “Ah...Yes. I must endeavor to remember that your conceptions of the world are still shaped by the laws of Hydaelyn’s listless creation.” He settles back against the rock, and Sahri hands him his compact before joining him. _

_ “You were a creator, of sorts,” he explains, “but goldsmithing? No such art existed. You’re telling me that you found time to develop yourself as an artisan between your obsessive meddling with our plans?” _

_ “Well…” Sahri feels a strange pulse of bashfulness. “I’ve always enjoyed using my hands to create. It’s a habit I carried from childhood to my adult life. Goldsmithing, weaving, and carpentry, mainly...Ah, and the culinary arts, if that counts. I’ve also dabbled a little into leatherworking…” When Sahri looks back towards Emet, she finds him regarding her fondly. Her stomach twists in pleasant knots.  _

_ “Long, then, has your soul yearned for the days of Amaurot…” The man seems most pleased by this knowledge. _

_ “Amaurot…” Sahri repeats, the word producing a tingle in her tongue. “You...also said that at the Bottom Rung, didn’t you? It sounds like...like a name.”  _

_ “Indeed,” Emet confirms, a warm nostalgia filling his eyes as he turns them back out towards the horizon. “Amaurot is the very city depicted in the mural you saw at the Qitana Ravel. My home, and yours...Your true home, that is. Truer than whatever decrepit corner of Eorzea from which you consider yourself to hail.”  _

_ Her home...her true home...Sahri’s heart stirs with indescribable emotion, indescribable yearning.  _

_ “Will you tell me about it?” Sahri requests. Anything...anything to help her remember… _

_ “How does one render Amaurot’s majesty into mere words…?” Emet wonders aloud. “It was a society where anything--absolutely anything--could be brought to life, so long as its creator had sufficient imagination to conceive of it. A city filled with buildings so tall they scraped the very heavens above...Disputes between its people were resolved not by arms, but spirited discussion. It was a true sanctuary, where knowledge and life could flourish in tranquility…” _

_ Tears well in Sahri’s eyes at the thought of such a beautiful place. Her heart aches.  _

_ “It sounds nearly too good to be true,” she chokes out with only a slight sniffle. Emet turns to her, catching her utterly off guard when he wipes the wet streaks from her face.  _

_ “In Hydaelyn’s world, it would be,” he tells her. “But such a dream was well within reach in the world before.” _

_ A smile rises onto Sahri’s face. “If only I could remember it for myself,” she laments.  _

_ “Do you truly wish to remember?” Emet asks her. _

_ “Yes!” Sahri exclaims, clasping his hand. “Desperately.” Emet’s smile grows. The affection lingers on his face, but it...hardens, somehow. _

_ “Then what you wish for, my dear, is The Rejoining.”  _

_ Sahri feels all of the wind knocked from her body. Her eyes grow wide.  _

_ “The...Rejoining?” she asks. “Isn’t that...isn’t that the Ascians’ ultimate objective?” _

_ “Before your mind runs away with terror and accusations, listen to me for a moment,” Emet urges. Sahri bites her tongue. “I know Hydaelyn has, likelier than not, conditioned you to recoil at the mere thought. But you need not be slave to her whims. Will you put aside your prejudice and afford my case a fair hearing?” _

_ This...this was bad. This was a bad idea, something inside Sahri screams as she gnaws the inside of her cheek. She should be insulted he even suggested the idea, storm off in a huff…! ...But was that really her talking? No. She carefully pushes that aside. She...she trusted Emet. Despite ample opportunity, he had never done anything to violate that trust. Listening was the least she owed him...Sahri swallows her apprehensions.  _

_ “...Very well,” she cedes, watching his face burst into a grin. “Tell me why this ‘Rejoining’ is something that I seek.”  _

_ “It’s simple, really,” the man begins. “If you and I continued these exercises--I tell you more of the ancient world, you search your soul for dormant memories...It’s likely that we could uncover quite a sizable amount. After all, as a denizen of the Source, your soul is already halfway towards being recompleted--thanks to the efforts of the Ascians you so despise, I might point out. Without us, none of these stirrings of familiarity, none of these bits and pieces of memory which you’re experiencing would exist.” _

_ Sahri clutches her chest. She...She hated that what he said made sense.  _

_ “Should I thank you?” she asks defensively.  _

_ “Perhaps one day, you will,” he tells her, clearly delighted that he was getting under her skin. “Alas, for all you may struggle to reclaim what you’ve lost, you will never complete your task as you are now. After all, Hydaelyn has ensured half of the contents of your soul--and with it, half of your memories--remain adrift in Shards just as foreign to your world as this one.” _

_ “Then…” Sahri hugs her knees to herself as she slowly accepts the revelation. “Then the only way I could ever truly remember…”  _

_ “The only way you could ever be whole--The only way you could ever reclaim your past--would be for all worlds to become as one once more. Rejoined, if you will.” Though the two are both sitting, it feels as if Emet towers over her, Sahri’s posture shrinking ever the more. A hand comes to rest on her cheek--Emet’s hand. It gently guides her gaze back to his.  _

_ “Why does that fact seem so distressing to you?” Emet asks her, a surprising lack of venom in his voice.  _

_ “Because…” Because it flies in the face of everything she’s ever struggled for, everything she’s ever believed in, Sahri thinks but doesn’t say. She doesn’t need to--she knows Emet can read it from her face. _

_ “You feel loyalty to the path Hydaelyn set you on,” he states. “Come, now--resist her thrall and consider this logically. Hydaelyn is the very being who tore your life apart--tore you apart. Separated you from your memories, your identity, everyone you ever loved. She ripped you to pieces...And then placed those pieces in her thrall, set you against the very people you used to love--the very people working to make you ‘yourself’ once more. Does that not strike you as cruel?” _

_ “It…” Sahri feels a pinprick of anger well into a fountain, Emet putting words to a frustration, to a resentment that had long burned in her soul. One she’d never found the voice to express--until now. She sits up straighter, clenching her fists.  _

_ “It is. It’s disgustingly cruel,” she agrees, Emet watching her approvingly. “Hydaelyn…” She floods the name with every ounce of venom she can muster. “Her--her ‘blessing’ is nothing of the sort. She shows the same indifference towards life as any primal I’ve faced.” _

_ “Precisely!” Emet affirms. “Blessed, dreaming, drowned...There are countless euphemisms for the selfsame phenomenon. This is Hydaelyn’s world, and as such, every primal is conceived in her image. Remember--She did not hesitate for a moment to wrest your precious Minfilia away from you, did she?” Sahri’s nails dig into her skin, her pulse quickening. “What exactly did that accomplish, again?” Horror stokes Sahri’s fury even further as she considers the ramifications of Emet’s question. _

_ “She...she only ever used Minfilia to spout half-truths about the nature of the world to me!” Sahri realizes, tears streaking down her cheeks. Emet wipes them away once more. Hydaelyn...Hydaelyn had thoroughly conned her. “Minfilia managed to use the powers Hydaelyn granted her to save the First...but that was more a happy coincidence than anything. That was Minfilia’s will, not Hydaelyn’s.”  _

_ “Ah, a misguided noble sacrifice...Little wonder you were fond of the woman.” He shakes his head. “One has to ponder whether she yearned to escape an existence as little more than Hydaelyn’s glorified spokeswoman.” ...There was a thought that reframed everything Sahri thought she knew about her love’s final moments. Before she can engage with it, Emet continues.  _

_ “You must understand. Zodiark and Hydaelyn--both may be primals, but they are fundamentally different beings. Zodiark was summoned forth for a single purpose--to restore the order of nature to a world falling apart at the seams. You yourself have witnessed a primal being summoned for causes you considered just--have you not? If you thought all were the same, you would not carry that staff with you.”  _

_ Ysayle...Oh, Ysayle...Sahri takes her staff in hand and focuses on its coolness. The woman may have misstepped at times, but who hadn’t? She fought for Ishgard’s oppressed, for a truth long buried, as Shiva. She stood by her in opposing truly dangerous primals as Shiva. She *died for her* as Shiva. Primals were not all cut from the same cloth, indeed. From what Emet described, Zodiark’s summoning sounded reasonable. As long as he was telling her the full truth… _

_ “Now, ponder Hydaelyn,” the man continues, drawing back her attention. “She herself was summoned for one reason--to oppose Zodiark. Her existence rests entirely upon the pursuit of power. It is for this reason she sundered the world while leaving herself intact--for this reason she sets you against us, again and again. She is a being defined by an obsession with destruction--an eternal vendetta against another being. One might label it revenge, if Zodiark had done anything to slight her.” _

_ The man sighs, shaking his head. “Hydaelyn’s existence is a tragedy, truly. Born from people left desperate and afraid by genuinely unbearable pain and loss, clinging onto a most destructive idea as some misguided recourse...Surely, you’ve witnessed more than one primal summoning which followed this example.” _

_ Sahri hears the screams of the Griffin’s followers as the Garleans slaughter them at that wretched wall, sees Papalymo’s last glance towards her before he blasts her to an airship’s deck, Shinryu rising overhead...Ga Bu’s tears for his parents’ loss, manifesting a Titan reimagined through youth’s shattered innocence... _

_ “...I have,” she tells him, gritting her teeth. She places her staff aside. “Though...I must point out it is almost always you and your brethren’s hands behind such tragedies.” _

_ “Now, now,” Emet tuts. “Our tactics may seem cruel, but all we have done is accelerated the inevitable. We may grant the desperate and weak the tools to mount a destructive resistance, but it is not our hands which summon the primals. We may set events in motion, but we are not the ones who carry them through. That is man’s fault. Man’s cruelty. Man as he was reshaped in Hydaelyn’s image. Unfailingly, your kind pulls the trigger. Do you imagine war would suddenly cease if we Ascians were not around? Do not be a fool.” _

_ Sahri bites her lip. That...she couldn’t argue with that.  _

_ “There was no such war in the old world,” Emet tells her. “The common man wielded far greater magical power than your kind’s most elite, yet they did not turn them on one another--not until Hydaelyn’s evil was born unto the world. We prod at the inherent weaknesses of her creation so that Zodiark can return us to the prior peace. Tell me truly, hero. A being like Hydaelyn--born of a desire for destruction, born of pitiable circumstances that drove people to seek a monster--is she truly who you wish to follow? To devote your life to?” _

_ “...No,” Sahri admits, rage against Hydaelyn welling up in her once more. “No. No, I could never. She...she is horrid. What she has done...despicable beyond words.”  _

_ As Sahri begins to break down into tears, Emet places an arm around her, holding her closer. Her tears intensify and she clings onto the man tightly, resting her head on his shoulder. She shudders when the man slowly begins to pet her.  _

_ “Cry all you need, my dear,” he whispers. “I forgive you. So far, you have proven me wrong--Proven yourself more than capable of carrying the weight that comes with knowing of the world before.” A few moments pass, Sahri’s tears calming, yet not completely stopping. “It is only natural you would feel this way. You were never meant to be with her. No. Your place is ever with us.” _

_ “Wh-what…” Sahri raises her head, wiping at her waning tears to look Emet in the eyes. “What do you mean by that?” _

_ “You might be interested to know,” Emet begins, smiling, “that the organization which would become the Ascians...Our ranks originally numbered not thirteen, but fourteen.” _

_ Sahri’s heart all but stops, instantly understanding the implication of the man’s words. _

_ “...Me?” She asks quietly. “I’m...the fourteenth Ascian?” _

_ “Of sorts,” the man confirms. “Long lost to us, certainly. Even before Hydaelyn split the world fourteen-fold. But undeniably one of our number. The others are convinced you lay forever beyond our reach...And I too agreed, until you made it very clear that was not the case at all. That you wanted to remember.” _

_ “Emet…” Sahri knows exactly where the man is leading, and she’s disgusted with herself for not pushing him away then and there. But she...she can’t. Not when his hold was so warm...Not when she could see him more clearly than she ever had… _

_ “You no longer need to live your life as an empty puppet, my dear,” he tells her, captivating her with the unrestrained yearning in his eyes. “You need not march on to inevitable death when you can be something far greater--a whole person once more.” He smiles. “It is true that you’ve slain a fair few of our number...But no soul is lost forever, as you yourself have proven. While we wait for them to rejoin us, I have little doubt those remaining will be delighted to see you return to our side. It's not too late.” _

_ Sahri scrambles for words, scrambles to string any coherent thoughts together in her mind, but she comes up woefully short. Her breath hitches when Emet outstretches his hand before her. _

_ “Come back to us.” His voice is entrancing, unable to be ignored. “Come back home.” Sahri’s heart pounds. Emet grows quieter. “...Come back to me.” _

_ ***** _

_ “Marry me,” her love asks her, a ring of silver and green resting in his outstretched palm. Their legs dangle over the edge of the Capitol’s rooftop, sprawling cityscape stretched before them. A frequent haunt of theirs, but tonight was special. Through the brisk air, the woman could swear she felt the very stars smiling down at them.  _

_ She’d known this was coming--by now, she could read the man with ease, was aware of the emotional arc their conversation was taking. Yet she was still caught utterly unprepared for this moment. Tears streamed behind her black mask, and the amount she’d been smiling had begun to make her mouth sore.  _

_ “...Your quiet does not inspire confidence,” her love says, nervousness creeping into his smile. She cannot restrain a giggle.  _

_ “I’m simply shocked!” she exclaims with the utmost amusement. “You really wish to marry a woman that you find so…‘peculiar?’” _

_ The man’s smile regains confidence. “Why, it is that very peculiarity which sets you apart from every other Amaurotine who competes for my interest.” The man’s face grows more serious, his cheeks burning an adorable red. “I am not often given to such sentiment, but...____, I believe you to be my soul’s mate.” _

_ The woman giggles more through her ever-flowing tears.  _

_ “As you are mine, silly man.” She takes his hand tightly, the ring now pressed between the warmth of their palms. “How could I ever say no?” _

_ ***** _

_ Sahri’s hand trembles, hovering ilms above Emet’s own. ‘Come back to me…’ echoes through her head. ‘Marry me…’ ‘Come home…’ ‘Marry me…’ ‘Come back to me…’  _

_ The world spins around Sahri at a dizzying pace. Images blur through her head, images of the entire life she’d lived up until now, images of a life she’d forgotten that made her choke back sobs...and so very many pairs of eyes. Ones she recognized, ones she did not… _

_ She swallows hard, closing her own eyes as she resolves to make her choice.  _

_ Sahri lowers her hand.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Sahri lowers her hand past Emet’s own, placing it on the back of his and curling his own fingers into his palm. _

_ “I’m...I’m sorry, Emet,” she tells him, voice shaky.  _

_ “...What?” is all the man musters in response, sounding wounded in a way she’d never heard before--wounded in a way which tore her own heart in twain.  _

_ “Of course...Of course I want to come back. Of course I want to remember,” she explains, voice muddled by tears. “And I hold no love for Hydaelyn. None at all. But...you know why I must decline.” The woman stops to sniffle. “Your Rejoining...You ask me to murder every person I have come to know and love in *this* life. People who, though deeply flawed, have hopes and dreams, joys and sorrows, so much love in their hearts...I simply cannot. The cost is too steep. It is too steep, Emet.”  _

_ Emet’s face contorts into a scowl. “*This* life? This life is nothing more than a facsimile of what once was! There is no hope for these fools you dare to call ‘people.’ They will drive each other to extinction, whether you and I lift a hand or not! And you would *choose* to keel over into the mud with them?” _

_ Sahri shakes her head, reasserting her will. “You are so certain of their doom...But that is not a certainty I share. Perhaps this humanity will drive itself to its own death...But perhaps not. They at least deserve a chance to try without your interference.” _

_ Emet’s face goes pale, his anger dialing back into something far more inscrutable. When he speaks again, his tone is even. _

_ “...That’s it, then?” he asks. “Instead of reclaiming your past, you choose to wash it away and walk on to your death as Hydaelyn’s dutiful puppet?” _

_ “I’m not doing this for her,” Sahri tells him firmly. His expression does not change.  _

_ “Does it matter whether a puppet is led by its strings or its own joints to the same incinerating flame?”  _

_...Sahri won’t counter that. She cannot, for he is right. Still...she draws her lips into a thin line.  _

_ “...Alright,” she says. “Then...this puppet will have to play her part to the bitter end. I’ll die. For those I have lost. For those I can yet save.” A pause. “I can only hope that one day, I may count you among the latter.” _

_ A beat of silence rings between the two. It passes, and Emet completely withdraws from her in one fluid motion--ending their embrace, pulling his hand back. He remains sitting, but creates distance between them, refusing to look at her.  _

_ “How...disappointing,” he says, placing a hand to his head. “...But why would I expect anything different? Of course that’s what you’d say...What you always would have said…” _

_ Tears stream down Sahri’s face once more, her heart knowing that this is the end. She...she must not let the moment pass with words left unsaid.  _

_ “Emet,” she manages. “Emet, I may not be able to stand by you...but…” She swallows. “I-I love you. Truly, I do.” _

_ Emet’s head turns towards her, rigid. The only sign of life on his face is the despair that fills his wet eyes.  _

_ “Why would you utter something so devoid of meaning?” _

_ Emet’s final, most painful dagger drives its way into her heart, sending Sahri shrinking back onto herself, tears intensifying.  _

_ “...You’re right,” she says weakly, biting her lip. Hands shaking, she delicately takes off the earrings, holding them out to Emet. “Here. You...You can have them back.” _

_ Emet regards them curiously. “...Keep them. I have no use for them. Not anymore.” He makes no move to collect them, so Sahri slowly withdraws her hand and clasps the jewelry to her chest. _

_ She lets out an embittered laugh, looking into the Kholusian sky once more. Ah...She should have known this was how their conversation would end. The sunset, the twilight...It preceded night. It always did.  _

_ Sahri could only hope that night wasn’t her own. _

_ …………………………………………………………………………………. _

_ Wiping the remaining tears from his eyes, Emet haltingly turns his gaze towards Sahri. The woman’s weariness apparently had caught up with her, as she’d cried herself to sleep, laying against the rock. Her cheeks were still drying, but her expression had settled into a rare peace. She had always worn peace so beautifully.  _

_ Cautiously, Emet places a hand on her cheek. Still asleep, she nuzzles into it, a smile growing on her face. He fails to fight off one of his own. What was she dreaming about, he wondered? She begins to mumble, and though it is mostly gibberish, there is one word he recognizes, one she says with the utmost affection. _

_ “...Raha…” _

_ The very next moment, Emet is on his feet, frown set deep in his features. He turns from her, walking away from the rock they shared, and begins speaking to himself in a dark tone.  _

_ “You want to remember? Then remember you shall. We’ll see if your resolve holds, hero, once I’ve submerged you in the past you so crave.” _

_ His gaze pivots in the direction which the Exarch had walked away well over an hour earlier.  _

_ “...And I believe I have the perfect bait.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the whole fourteenth thing I could not resist with the Xion references in this bc Kingdom Hearts is trash but it's my trash
> 
> Sorely tempted to write a bad end AU at some point where Sahri takes the other choice, we'll see
> 
> Update: I started just that [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28013340)


	15. La Tristesse du Quatorzième

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even truth has its own agenda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally "The Sadness of the Fourteenth," some more Xion bc I am weak
> 
> In the original document I wrote this fic this was Chapter 14, but thanks to Ao3 counting the prologue as one, now it's not....Just pretend for me lol

Hades, my love,

It has not been a full month since I last wrote you, yet it feels as if my circumstances have changed completely. Not materially--I reside in the same humble village which I have for months, now. But I’ve made real strides in clawing my way back from the abyssal depths my mind’s fabricated “encounter” left me in. I do not fear the light transforming me into a monster--not as intensely as I once did. For your memory, and for those I love now, I will never surrender my will to Hydaelyn. No, I’ve regained my ability to smile--to cherish those I love, to reach the end of a day and find myself satisfied. Would you be happy to know that? You had every reason to wish for my suffering...Who wouldn’t, of the hand which killed them? That smile you gave me, as you breathed your last...was it a sign of peace? Or was it a taunt? To this day, I cannot decide. I suppose I’ll never truly know.

I’ve come to accept Slitherbough among my ever-growing collection of homes--the Twelveswood, Ala Mhigo, Ishgard...and of course, Amaurot. You would scoff at the notion of considering them in the same breath, I know, but I cannot help how I feel. This world...these other homes may be riddled with flaws Amaurot never possessed, but they raised me nonetheless--provided me sanctuary in my most vulnerable times. All are filled to the brim with people I love. Can you truly blame me? If it was I who survived Hydaelyn’s sundering and you who was set adrift as part of this new world, would you feel any different? This life would be the realest you’d ever known. Its love would be the realest you’d ever known. Looking back, I cannot be certain if the deep love of the world before which you stirred in me was of a fundamentally different character. Perhaps, for all I learned, it was still beyond my comprehension. 

On the subject of love...There is something for which I must thank you. You’d likely be inclined to take this sarcastically, but I mean it with complete sincerity: Thank you for pulling Y’shtola from the Lifestream. Her life may have not meant much to you, but to me, she’s the world. More pining, I know. But I love her, as truly as I’ve loved anyone. Even you, insulting as you may find that. She’s one of the few people who consistently challenges me to do better, to strive for more from myself, and that has proven a potent balm as I’ve continued to stumble over my own feet. If you’d been able to give her a chance, I believe you would have liked her. You are both possessed of the same sharp minds and scathing wit. You could have built a rapport, I think. You are both deeply thoughtful...and though you may frighten away those of weaker wills, I know of the kindness that is the truth set deep in your hearts. She takes good care of me, Hades--You can rest easy. 

None of this is to say I’ve somehow put you behind me--gods, I still see your face every day. My life remains yours. It will ever be. The questions you raised follow me still. What am I missing, remaining incomplete? You yourself did not even consider me alive. If not, then what am I? A disappointment--that much you made abundantly clear. A puppet--while I hold the will to resist, I do still march to Hydaelyn’s tune, unaware of the depth of emptiness with which that leaves me. Your nameless love--Did you love me, as I am now? Clearly, something drew you to me, and yet…

Perhaps I would have found these answers as your fourteenth. But that bridge has been crossed, that reality only accessible in the realm of nightmares. I’ll continue to search for them on my own--continue to search for a suitable way to honor your memory. To somehow, in some way see your dream of remembrance fulfilled. I’ve made no progress on that front, but one day, I will. Oh, Hades...Our time together was cut woefully short. That seems to be a pattern in my life, one which I doubt will stop with you. My love, it gives me some small peace to have learned your true name--But will I ever remember mine? Does a puppet deserve to remember? Or will her identity ever remain property of the imaginary?

Searching with love in my heart,

Your Imaginary Fourteenth

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Sahri lets out a sigh as she puts down her quill. Damn. She’d intended this letter to be a hopeful measure of her progress in taming her sorrows, but by the end it had resolved into the very same gloom as before. Emotional wounds were far too slow to heal--exponentially more so when jagged shrapnel lingered within them. Sahri prays she’ll be able to pry the debris out before the wounds close around it. She shakes her head. This would not deter her. She had the endurance to continue forward. And if she strayed from her path, Y’shtola would be there to give a quick jolt of Thunder to remind her.

Hmmm...Sahri glances around the bedroom, and then out to the main section of the home. No Y’shtola, yet. She had more time to fill before the two started their day’s studies. Fortunately, an idea struck her. Searching around the room, she finds a piece of wood laying on the floor, obscured behind a pile of books and papers. It was the same wood she’d been carving the day that the Children attacked Slitherbough--the unfinished statuette for Y’shtola. Sahri had not known what direction to take it in, then, but she had a concept now. She couldn’t be certain if the woman would like it, but it was worth an attempt. 

Heading back to the bedroom, Sahri picks up her carving knife. She’d successfully negotiated it back from Y’shtola once the woman felt assured she was in a well enough mental state to handle it. Sitting at the desk once more, Sahri sets to work. She rounds out the wood, carving it thinner--though bulging more towards the center. As she whittles away, parts of it begin to take on a humanoid shape--a head, legs in a wide stance. Before she could tackle the truly difficult task that would be the arms and torso, Sahri is interrupted by a sweet voice. 

“Hard at work as always, moonbeam. You must find it in yourself to rest more often.” 

Y’shtola smiles at her in the doorway, a small stack of books underneath her arm. Sahri quickly stuffs the statuette and knife into a bag and stands up to greet her.

“This  _ is _ restful for me,” Sahri tells her, giving her a hug and a peck on the cheek. “How did your morning excursion to Fanow go, Toya?”

Y’shtola’s smile dims slightly. “Not as fruitful as I might have hoped, unfortunately. Still, the Viis have been most cooperative, and I’m making slow progress decoding Ronka’s secrets. I feel as if I am on the cusp of a breakthrough.” She sets the books down atop one of her many stacks. “But enough of that. What is it you were working on?”

Sahri’s smile turns mischievous. “That...is a surprise. You’ll have to be patient for a while longer.” 

“Patient?” Y’shtola asks, quirking a brow and smiling at Sahri’s playful tone. “You ask for much. Do not be surprised if my curiosity gets the better of me.” The woman moves to walk to the bed, no doubt seeking a comfortable place to sit, but her eyes catch on the desk Sahri was working at. “...That ink is fresh. Were you writing something?” 

Ah. Y’shtola had an unbelievably sharp eye for one bereft of sight. Sahri’s first instinct is to cover for herself, but she knows that would benefit no one. No, she has nothing to hide from Y’shtola. 

“Yes, actually. A letter,” Sahri confesses. 

“...A letter?” There is a glint of concern in her eyes. “Not like the one you wrote to your mother, I would hope?"

Sahri shakes her head. “No, no.” How could she describe them? “They’re...love letters, of a sort.”

“They? As in more than one?” The woman’s face grows increasingly troubled. 

“It...might be easier if I just showed you.” Sahri rises, digging out the first letter she’d written and setting it atop the new one. Her stomach twisted in knots--this would open a part of her life to Y’shtola that she’d spoken of to no one. Well, to none except Hades. Yet...At the same time, she felt a wave of relief when she handed Y’shtola the sheets of parchment. No burden needed to be beared alone, as the woman often told her…

Sahri stares at the bedsheets as Y’shtola begins to read. It is only when she hears the sound of the woman setting down the letters that she looks again. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and Sahri can practically hear the gears whirring in her head. She allows her time to sort through her thoughts--she’d been bombarded all at once with that which Sahri found overwhelming spread over months. When she reopens her eyes, they are loaded with emotional weight. 

“Thank you,” she says, turning to Sahri. She takes Sahri’s hand in hers and raises it to kiss the back of her hand. Sahri flushes red. “Thank you for keeping this to yourself for no longer.”

“Of...Of course,” Sahri tells her, a smile creeping onto her face as she scoots closer. “I trust you, Shtola.” 

“You have not always. Not like this,” Y’shtola points out, smiling back. “But I know you do now. Without a doubt. And I am heartened to know that even when your mind is in deep peril, my faith in you continues to be justified.” Her fond smile fades into an expression more serious. “That said...I’d hoped that ‘love letter’ meant a sentimental missive to the Exarch. To say I have questions...would fall woefully short of reality.”

“I...I’m not surprised,” Sahri tells her, leaning back. “I still have questions myself.” 

Y’shtola nods. “I admit,” she begins, closing her eyes once more, “I gravely miscalculated the nature of the relationship between you and Emet-Selch.”

Sahri suppresses her urge to “correct” the woman--No, she could call the man what she liked. 

“I assumed it was mainly physical in nature,” Y’shtola continues, “for I could not conceive of what romantic aspirations you might have towards an Ascian. Let alone the father of the Garlean Empire.” Eorzea’s Warrior of Light and the progenitor of the Garlean imperial line  _ would _ be a most bizarre couple to catch in the throes of romance, Sahri thinks with mild amusement. “Clearly, that assumption was wildly off-base.”

“But, Sahri.” Y’shtola reopens her eyes and firmly stares into Sahri’s own. “Before I press you for details--and you can rest assured that I will--there is a particular point that stands out to me in these letters. One so alarming I must address it before any other.”

“What is that?” Sahri asks, suspecting she already knew the answer. Y’shtola picks up the letters, one in each hand, and examines them as she might a historical document. 

“‘Perhaps I should have taken your hand…’” she reads. “‘As your fourteenth…’” Yes, she’d pinpointed exactly what Sahri expected. When Y’shtola looks at her, she is not quite angry, but certainly heated. “Sahri. Tell me plainly. What did this man ask of you? What did he want you to do?”

Sahri gives a small laugh, a pained smile. Direct as always--Sahri did love that about Y’shtola. Even if she felt the part of her younger self playing coy with Lady Lukah about what strange berries she’d eaten in the woods. 

“What he asked of me…” Tears prickle the corner of Sahri’s eyes. “Why, to return to his side and take my rightful place as the Ascians’ fourteenth, of course.” 

“To  _ become _ an  _ Ascian _ ?” Y’shtola snaps, baring her teeth, but Sahri knows it’s not her that the woman’s anger is directed at. 

“Yes...I was their colleague in Amaurot,” Sahri explains. “A member of the Convocation--the organization which became the Ascians.”

“Is that what he told you?” Y’shtola is clearly doubtful.

“I know that it is true,” Sahri says, clutching her chest. “It resonates much too deeply with my heart to be otherwise.” She smiles at the memory of a comforting presence in the Bureau of the Administrator. “Besides, I was recognized in Amaurot.”

Y’shtola’s eyes widen. “...Very well. I will take your word for now, though I would discuss the matter more at a later time.” The woman takes a breath. When she speaks again, her tone is more subdued. “...Tell me you never seriously considered his offer. Tell me you never entertained the idea of taking their side.” Y’shtola’s eyes plead with her, and Sahri averts her own. It was difficult to face the woman, knowing she was about to let her down. 

“ _ Sahri _ .” 

“I…” Sahri wipes a tear from her eye. For some reason, she’s still smiling. “I won’t lie to you, Shtola. It took every ounce of my resolve to tell him no.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sahri spots the two letters fluttering to the ground. She musters the will to face Y’shtola once more. She wears an expression of unabashed shock--an exceedingly rare sight for her. That was not the answer she anticipated...Or, at the very least, wasn’t the answer she wanted to let herself anticipate. Slowly, her head lowers, and she catches it in her own hands. She massages her temples, and it is a few moments before she speaks. 

“I...appreciate your honesty,” she finally says. “That is...deeply humbling knowledge. What...what an unmitigated disaster it would have been. Not only to lose you, but to face you as a foe, reborn with the powers of…” Sahri places a hand on Y’shtola’s. The woman takes it in hers and shakes her head, willing the thought away. “But that did not happen, thankfully. I...was wrong not to challenge your affair. Had I known how Emet-Selch was poisoning your mind…”

“It’s alright, Shtola,” Sahri reassures. “Nothing happened to me. Everything turned out well.”

“Did it?” Y’shtola asks, frowning. “Is that why, even now, you grapple with guilt over the choice between him and the lives of untold millions of innocents?” Y’shtola’s question crashes against her at lightning speed.

“It--It wasn’t just him!” Sahri spits out in her defense.“It was about my past, everything I loved before, opposing Hy--” Sahri bites her tongue. No. She needs to reel herself in. Defensiveness was doing her no favors. “...Unfortunately, his arguments struck me as most persuasive. He...was skilled at that, making what he believed seem like the only right answer.”

“He manipulated you, Sahri,” Y’shtola forcefully asserts. 

“He did,” Sahri admits, “but only with the truth.” 

“The truth?” Y’shtola shakes her head. “Why are you so convinced of that?”

“He was an unfailingly honest man,” Sahri asserts with her own force. “None of the Scions took the time to come to know him as I did. Even outside the context of our romantic involvement.” She feels the friction of she and Y’shtola’s wills grinding against one another--yet they remained connected by the fingers interlaced between them. 

“Scholars are meant to be curious, are they not?” Sahri continues. “Yet without fail, I was the only one who stayed behind after everyone walked off. Who asked follow-up questions, pressed him for details as he stood there, offering himself up as a source. I learned much from him--about the Ascians’ motivations and structure, about the world that came before. Did you know? Names such as “Emet-Selch” are not names at all, but titles--the titles we held in Amaurot’s Convocation.”

“That you would group yourself in with them…” Y’shtola clenches her free fist. “Well, that explains why you insistently refer to the man as ‘Hades.’ Though it would be difficult for me to separate him from his role.” She tilts her head. “What was your title, then?”

“...If only I remembered,” Sahri says sadly. Her sorrow douses the intensity brimming between her and Y’shtola. Sympathy rises in the woman’s eyes, and she squeezes Sahri’s hand. 

“The fact that you cannot hurts you,” Y’shtola observes. “Emet-Selch tantalized you with fragments of a past, that much is certain. And it’s clear from your letters that you deeply believe them to be your own.”

“Shtola...Didn’t you tell me, once, that you were inclined to take Hades’ words as truth?” Sahri asks her. “That he seemed like a man with nothing to lose, and that while you still wished to subject his claims to scrutiny, there was much evidence to support them?” Y’shtola’s mouth falls slightly agape, and the woman blinks a few times before closing her eyes and sighing.

“...I did,” she admits. “And, unclouded by my own emotion, I stand by that assessment.” She reopens her eyes. “I...apologize, Sahri. This has all been...very difficult to absorb.” Sahri leans into the woman, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

“I know, Shtola,” Sahri tells her. “I know.” 

“I’m worried for you,” Y’shtola confesses in a low voice, untangling she and Sahri’s fingers to hug her. “I worry what it means that his words still find purchase in your heart.”

“Are...you afraid I still may change my mind?” Sahri asks with a hint of nervousness.

“...I cannot know.” Y’shtola’s hold on her tightens. “Are you?”

Anxiety spikes through Sahri’s system, but she takes a steadying breath. She already knew her answer.

“No,” Sahri tells Y’shtola with confidence. “I may struggle...I may doubt...I may waver...But I will not change my course.” She smiles fondly. “Do you want to know why, Shtola?”

Y’shtola raises an eyebrow. “It may well prove comforting.” 

Sahri closes her eyes in reflection. “My mind...ran wild when Hades reached his hand out to me. Faces flashed through my head. Pairs of eyes. Can you guess which it settled on?”

“I’d much rather we skip to the point where you tell me.” 

Sahri giggles, bringing her hands to hold Y’shtola’s face. She regards her dearly.

“Yours,” Sahri says in a quiet voice. “I saw your eyes, and I knew I could never take his hand.”

“...Mine?” Y’shtola blinks in surprise. “Why mine, above all others in your life?”

“You would see my choice for what it was,” Sahri explains. “You would not waste time on sorrow or shock over my betrayal. You would not become mired in questions over whether my loyalties laid with them all along, or if I had been compromised as Thancred once had. No. You would not hesitate to raise your staff against me, because your eyes would pierce to my core and see what truly rested within--weakness. The soul of a woman who had given up when she could instead have taken another step forward.” Sahri shakes her head. “Knowing that, I couldn’t lie to myself, either.”

“...‘She’s one of the few people who consistently challenges me to do better,’” Y’shtola quotes from Sahri’s letter. She smiles, sentiment welling in her eyes.

“And you succeed,” Sahri assures. “If I feel weak, if I begin to drift down a wayward path...I simply need imagine your face, and I’ll set myself right once more. You see me for who I am, without pretense--and still, you’ve afforded me your trust. Afforded me your love. How could I ever dare to break that? No, I must ever labor to live up to what you see in me.”

“Never once have you fallen short,” Y’shtola tells her in a low voice. “You have proven yourself worthy at every turn.” She pulls Sahri into a sweet kiss, one graciously returned in a swell of love. Sahri’s had kissed Y’shtola countless times by this point, but the woman’s lips never failed to stir something deep in her. She was so very lucky to be able to share moments like this with her. Sahri’s eyes narrow affectionately when the two eventually pull apart. 

“And yet…” Y’shtola says, beginning to speak once more, “I would be remiss not to ask what, exactly, could shake a woman of your conviction so. Was the past Emet-Selch painted truly so captivating?”

Sahri sighs sadly. “You saw it, didn’t you?” 

Y’shtola’s eyes widen slightly before closing. “...Yes. I did. We lived Amaurot’s final days at each other’s side.”

“They may well have broken me without you,” Sahri admits, taking the woman’s hand once more. “That’s what he wanted, I think. To overwhelm me with the sorrow of watching my people die as I felt myself succumb to the same…” Sahri reclines back against the bed, willing herself to stay anchored through a torrent of memory. Y’shtola lays down beside her, idly stroking Sahri’s hair. 

“I may not have held the same connection which you did...But I won’t pretend I felt nothing, witnessing that destruction,” Y’shtola admits. “How much we lost when that city burned, and again when Hydaelyn divided its ashes among fourteen shards...Untold amounts of life, of knowledge, of culture…”

“The most destructive of calamities,” Sahri agrees. “Walking Amaurot’s streets...I remembered, Shtola. I knew what lay around every corner. I knew it was my home. A home I deeply loved, even if I could not recall my life within it.”

“It’s a strange irony,” Y’shtola muses. “In the immediate aftermath of the sundering, the Ascians’ objective may have been reasonably considered worthy--even just. To repair a world torn apart, one that all yearned to return to. But as years turned to decades, decades to generations, that world was forgotten--new lives born from old. Time created new societies, a new form of life worth protecting--and the Ascians, unable to let go of the past, transformed from noble heroes into the worst of monsters.”

“And yet, those new societies could never live up to that of eld,” Sahri says sadly. “Its denizens eternally incomplete, eternally something far less than whole…”

“...That, I’m far less inclined to agree with,” Y’shtola tells her. Sahri looks in her direction.

“But it’s true, Shtola. You have to admit that,” Sahri urges. “We are fragments of what once was. We…” She clutches her chest. “We may not even be able to feel as they did…”

Y’shtola frowns. “You’re wrong,” she declares, taking Sahri aback with her lack of doubt. “You were so entranced by Emet-Selch’s facts that you failed to notice the ideology he slipped in among them.”

...Ideology? Sahri did not know what to make of that. “How...How so?”

“Tell me, Sahri,” Y’shtola begins. “Putting aside for a moment its alternate cultural development, and any changes brought about unnaturally by the Flood...in what ways does the First differ from the Source?”

“Differ...Hmm.” Sahri drums her cheek, racking her mind. “Well…” She runs through every possibility in her head, yet finds they all root back to Y’shtola’s two exceptions--culture and the Flood. She shakes her head. “I...don’t know. I cannot think of any major differences,” she admits.

“Precisely.” There is a spirited gleam in Y’shtola’s eye. “The Source from which we hail has been “Rejoined” several times already, has it not? If this old world was as immaculately perfect as Emet-Selch claimed, we’d surely see a marked difference between the First and the Source. Yet we do not. Is the First’s earth any less of earth than the Source’s? Its water less of water? Its air less of air?”

“No--no, it’s not,” Sahri has to agree. “Channeling the environment through conjury was a remarkably transferable skill between the two.”

“Then why would its life be less of life?” Y’shtola asks pointedly. Sahri finds herself at a loss for words. “I’ve thought much about this--as far as I can determine, Hydaelyn’s sundering was not as a sheet of glass shattering to pieces, but instead a diagram of existence carefully cross-sected into fourteen equal parts.”

“What...what difference does that make?” Sahri asks her, mind swirling with Y’shtola’s fresh perspective. 

“A vital one,” Y’shtola asserts. “While I am willing to believe that individual memories could be scattered about the cosmos, and that the overall intensity of magic is much reduced in each shard...Personhood? No. It stays much the same. Even divided, each soul maintains its fundamental characteristics--the full range of emotions, curiosity and creativity and abundance. People are no different now than they were in days of eld. Certainly no less of people. To believe otherwise is to subscribe to the same cultural chauvinism that drives Garleans to label us “savages”--sourced to the same man, at that.” 

Sahri clutches her head. That...that couldn’t be correct, could it? Things were different back then, after all...Amaurot was no Garlemald. ...Right?

“But...Amaurot had no war, Shtola,” Sahri argues. “People lived in harmony, only worked to create and expand their knowledge...They were not cruel as we are.”

“That is the lie Emet-Selch told himself, that he passed onto you as fact.” Y’shtola’s gaze is steady, firm. “A lie born of millennia of nostalgia. Do you truly believe Amaurot was a society bereft of conflict? What of the conflict between Zodiark and Hydaelyn which led to its undoing?” Sahri’s eyes fly wide open. “If Amaurotines were a perfect race which lived in perfect harmony, there would be no reason to have a governing body, for that matter. I have little doubt Amaurot was a beautiful society which made many worthy contributions to its own people and humanity as a whole--especially if you were among those at its helm. But its stature does not tower so high that we of this new world could never match it. Even if Amaurot had found some sort of key to utopia--does that one city comprise the entirety of the old world? I very much doubt that.”

“It...it doesn’t,” Sahri tells Y’shtola, realization striking her. “It completely slipped my mind with the events that followed, but when we were in Hades’ conjured Amaurot...I overheard a discussion in the Hall of Rhetoric. I was even invited to participate in it.”

“Oh? And what was the subject?” Y’shtola asks with genuine curiosity in her eyes. 

“The subject was…” Sahri struggles to believe her own memory. “The subject was...whether Amaurot should lend its aid following a disaster which occured overseas…” 

“Hmm.” Y’shtola’s hums in satisfaction. “That sounds exceedingly similar to the sorts of conversations our own politicians have with one another, does it not?”

“It...it does…” Sahri admits, sitting up and staring at the bed. She...she was utterly adrift. She thought she’d finally understood the truth of the world, but Y’shtola had completely upended that perception. Leave it to her to be able to do as such with ease…

“Moonbeam.” Y’shtola’s voice draws Sahri’s attention. The woman has shifted to sit in front of her, and she takes Sahri’s face in her hands. Sahri anchors herself in those eyes. “I can only imagine the pain which these memories have left you with--that knowing there are yet more beyond your reach has left you with. But grappling with pain, with sorrow, with guilt, with trauma do not make a woman less human. Yearning for a happiness you do not currently possess does not make you less human. No, those are the very features which  _ make _ you human. Do not allow Emet-Selch do delude you otherwise.”

“Sahri Rhoshaan,” Y’shtola tells her, “You were whole from the start.”

As she’d been inclined to at the drop of a gil piece as of late, Sahri bursts into tears. No...No. She was wrong. She had to be wrong…

“Shtola,” she sputters. “‘Sahri’...that is no more truly my name than ‘Lukah.’ In fact, it feels far less real, these days…” She tangles her fingers in the fabric of her robe. “How can I possibly be whole if I don’t have a name? No matter how hard I try, I simply...I simply can’t remember…”

“Hmmmm…” Y’shtola sounds unswayed by Sahri’s objections. “If you consider yourself one in the same as the woman who Emet-Selch loved in Amaurot, I will not argue with you. That is a philosophical point which I have little interest in pursuing at the moment. For your peace of mind, I do hope you one day remember that name. But lacking it does not leave you bereft of a name now. What exactly is a name to you?”

“A name...to me?” Sahri gives her tears a pause and considers her question. “I mean, a name...is who you are. What you call yourself. Usually something which binds you to your family…”

Y’shtola nods in agreement. “That is all very true. Each one of us develops many names in our lives...Far more than the ones our caregivers grant us as infants. Some we accept, some we reject. But they are not mutually exclusive to one another. As far as I am concerned, if a woman earnestly tells me her name, that will be the name I call her, the name I will accept as hers. Even if it differs from the name she was granted at birth. Even if she’s content to have others call her by a different name. Would you feel the same way?”

“Well...Of course,” Sahri tells her. “It is basic courtesy not to force an unwanted name upon someone. Your true name is…” Sahri’s eyes widen as she slowly dawns upon Y’shtola’s point. “...Your true name is whatever you decide to accept as such…”

“An elegant summation,” Y’shtola praises, a smile gracing her face. “Perhaps you cannot remember the name you carried in Amaurot, or the name you were granted as a member of its Convocation...But tell me. What is your opinion of the name ‘Sahri Rhoshaan?’” 

“...When I was young, I found it so pretty,” Sahri admits. “Even now, there is a certain satisfaction when I hear it roll off a miqo'te’s tongue. And…” Sahri moves her hands from her robe to clasp them together. “Carrying on my mother’s family name--the mother who gave birth to me--fills me with pride. It...It’s one of the few ways I can still feel connected to the family I lost in Ala Mhigo…”

“Mmm…” Y’shtola seems pleased. “It is a powerful name, then, passed from mother to daughter. One I must concur on the beauty of. Now I am curious--how do you feel when one of the Blessed calls you “Lukah?”

“...Delighted,” Sahri says, a smile rising to her face. “Because it means they consider me one of their own. Not to mention, it reminds me of the mother still waiting to embrace me with open arms in the East Shroud…”

“It sounds to me, then, that you possess not one but two true names that you currently find pride in. That does not preclude the possibility of more as memory returns, and yet…” Y’shtola’s gaze softens. She places her own hand over Sahri’s heart. “This pride you feel...in yourself, in the women responsible for making the one who sits before me...Take hold of it, tightly. Cherish it, Sahri. It is real, and it is yours, and no one can take it away from you. No one can convince you it is any less worthy than other existences, whether they be in the past or present. Not Emet-Selch. Not anyone.”

“Okay.” Sahri nods repeatedly, tears beginning to streak down her face. She clutches Y’shtola’s hand. “Okay. Okay. Okay...You’re right. I’ll be proud...I’ll be proud…” True to her word, a well of pride fills Sahri’s chest.

“I’m delighted to hear it,” Y’shtola whispers. “ _ Sahri. _ ”

Gods, what a fool she had been. How far she’d allowed herself to be led astray, both by Hades and her own heart...She loved the name Sahri. She loved the name Lukah. That was all they needed to be true, to be  _ real _ ...Y’shtola had a remarkable way of snapping her perspective back into place, and Sahri was more grateful for it than ever...Oh, how she loved her…

“Thank you…” Sahri says quietly, rubbing her cheek affectionately against her love’s. “Thank you...Thank you, Shtola…”

“Always, moonbeam.” Y’shtola’s voice is achingly tender. “ _ Sahri. _ Sahri. Sahri…” She repeats it like an anthem, and every time the name leaves her mouth, it sounds the slightest bit more real. The slightest bit more familiar. 

Gripped with intense emotion which she can think of no other way to channel, Sahri kisses her, lingering and deep. Y’shtola gives a small moan of surprise, eagerly returning Sahri’s affections. Sahri’s hands come to rest on Y’shtola’s shoulders, the woman pulling her to sit in her lap--one hand behind her head, the other on her back. From this position, the kiss naturally deepens further. Sahri hums with delight when Y’shtola slips her tongue between her lips. Heat begins to stir in her core--she  _ loves _ this woman...She moans, eager to convey her enjoyment to her love. 

“Mmmm…” Y’shtola breaks their kiss, eyes half-lidded. “Making sounds like that may tempt me to put my hands on you in earnest, moonbeam.  _ Sahri _ .”

Sahri’s face blooms in red at the emphasis Y’shtola places on her name. Her name...Her name, dearly and truly...Sentiment and desire blended into one. Gods, if she hadn’t wanted this before…

“I would welcome it,” Sahri invites her with a smile. Y’shtola laughs heartily. 

“That’s all I need to hear. Relax for a while, moonbeam. My Sahri.”

Y’shtola kisses her once more, hands slipping behind Sahri’s robe and roaming across the back of her thin dress. Sahri eagerly responds in kind, her own hand moving to the bare skin at the back of Y’shtola’s own dress. They linger in the kiss, in no rush to move along beyond the most gradual increases in intensity. This would be slow and deliberate, Sahri sensed. Good. While fierce exertion could be delightful fun, in this moment, she was much more inclined to relinquish herself to slow, gentle touch. 

Y’shtola unclasps her love’s robe, Sahri allowing it to fall behind her and untying Y’shtola’s dress in turn. Before long, both have much more skin on display, more skin for their hands to roam, to feel. Sahri pulls her mouth from Y’shtola’s to instead kiss around her neck, her chest, lavishing her with love. Y’shtola gladly grants her pleased noises, coupled with a name repeated again and again--Sahri, Sahri. Each utterance encouraged Sahri onwards, knowing it was hers--knowing it was hers once more. 

Sahri bends forward to focus attention on Y’shtola’s breasts, and the woman’s delight grows louder. No bites today--only kisses, licks, suckles. All while a chorus of her name floated in the air around her. One of Y’shtola’s hands finds its way to Sahri’s hair, the other sliding underneath her dress to feel her lithe form--before moving downwards. The woman slips two fingers into Sahri’s undergarments, Sahri happily humming in approval when Y’shtola’s fingers tease her folds. They keep the delicate pace, teasing building wetness, wetness allowing one finger to slip inside, then another. 

Each woman continues their ministrations, Y’shtola’s repetition of Sahri’s name stirring a sweet tingle in her heart, a growing love for the sound--which was no doubt Y’shtola’s intention. At some point, Y’shtola’s hand leaves Sahri’s head to slip between her own folds, deftly building both their pleasures at once. Her devotion to Sahri’s name fills with that pleasure, adding yet more flourish--Sahri, Sahri,  _ Sahri.  _ Happy tears roll down Sahri’s cheeks--yes, that was her name. That was her name. That was her name...Her name in the voice of a woman who she loved…

She’d not felt such deep love for another since Haurchefant passed, Sahri realized. That was the last time she’d lived with a partner for such an extended period, as well... Hearing Y’shtola say her name...Say her name with such reverence, such love...Sahri could almost feel sparks of the hopes she’d buried with House Fortemps’ most beloved knight…

When Sahri comes, it is gentle, all sound lost in Y’shtola’s chest. Sahri relishes her afterglow, and she hears one last, delighted, loving “ _ Sahri _ ” as Y’shtola comes around her own fingers. The two lean into one another, limbs tangled, savoring skin on skin in the wake of their twin pleasures. At some point, they shift to lay on their sides, Y’shtola’s arms wrapped around Sahri’s waist. Sahri is surprised when she feels a slight tug at her ears--Y’shtola playing with her earrings, she realizes. 

“He gave these to you, didn’t he?” she asks, knowing the answer. 

“...He did,” Sahri admits, a beat of anxiety in her heart. “They were mine...in Amaurot. A product of my own creation magic.” “

“Mmm...That explains it,” Y’shtola says, seemingly coming to an understanding. “Their materials are as foreign as those in the Tempest’s ruins, and they shine with the same gold as your soul…”

“P...Please don’t tell me I need to get rid of them,” Sahri pleads. “They’re all I have left of him. Of us…”

“I won’t,” Y’shtola reassures. “That would be cruel. No matter his flaws, it is clear that you loved him dearly.” Sahri breathes a sigh of relief. “Still...You cannot mourn him forever, Sahri--Your life is not his. It is yours. It should be yours. Yours to move forward and continue your pursuit of fulfillment. You must find a way to move on, as you have from all you’ve lost.”

“...I know. I know…” Sahri raises her hand before her face. “But...that’s so much more difficult when mine was the hand which slayed him…” Just as her hand begins to shake, Y’shtola’s own reaches forward, entwining the two’s fingers together. 

“I have no answers for the ‘how,’ unfortunately. I pray you find one.” Y’shtola squeezes her hand. “You...are determined to remember him, yes?”

“It was...the last request he ever made of me,” Sahri tells her, leaning back into her hold. “To remember Amaurot, its people...To remember him and I…”

“...Was it, now?” Y’shtola asks, thoughtful. “It seems he found some peace in the end you gave him, then. Recognized you as the true inheritor of his will, rather than his fellow Ascians. Did he realize that all he really desired was for his existence, his pain to be acknowledged, I wonder…?”

Surprised, Sahri turns to face Y’shtola. “You...Do you really think that’s true?”

Y’shtola shakes her head. “Only speculation. I did not know the man as you did--only what he chose to reveal, which I expect was much curated. Does that align with your impression of him?”

Sahri thinks back to their conversation in Kholusia--how resigned Hades sounded at its end. Could it possibly be…? Sahri clasps her hands before her heart.

“I will remember, Hades,” she swears. “I will. I will…” She feels a hand rest atop hers. Y’shtola is smiling at her. 

“You do not have to do so alone,” she says.

“What…?” Sahri is dumbfounded.

“Not a one of your burdens must be yours alone, Sahri. Not a one,” Y’shtola reminds her. “Besides, I would very much like to learn more of Amaurot myself. Both from what he shared with you and what we might uncover on our own. If you wish to honor him, let us ensure we’ve gleaned every insight we can during our time in the First. Examine the ruins, peruse the archives--let us research and build our knowledge together. That way, we may one day share it and add a new prologue to the history books.”

Tears well in Sahri’s eyes, heart overwhelmed. “You’d...you’d really do that with me…?”

“Gladly, moonbeam,” Y’shtola reinforces. “Not to the exclusion of all else, of course, but I would--I cannot think of a better way to help Amaurot’s people find peace.”

“Oh, Shtola…” Sahri smiles widely, full of gratitude. “Thank you...Oh, I love you…”

“And I you,” Y’shtola tells her in turn. “Of course, such a study will take time to put together. In the meantime...Would you tell me about him? Your...your Hades?”

Sahri’s heart squeezes hearing Y’shtola say his true name. “You...you want to know about him…?” Y’shtola nods. 

“I suspect you’d appreciate someone to confide in,” Y’shtola explains. “And as you speak, remembering will become all the easier--its burden divided between two souls instead of one. I will not allow you to be alone in this, Sahri. So...I’d like to know. What is it you loved about him? What do you remember? What do you not? Speak freely. You may say anything which comes to mind.” 

“What I remember…” Sahri’s heart fills with warmth, smile staying firm. “Well...in truth, the only clear memory I have is sitting atop one of Amaurot’s towers…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'shtola doesn't have time for anybody's bullshit, even people she loves
> 
> She also says trans rights


	16. Dirge for the Dramatist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Losing someone is difficult--Moving on? Even moreso.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toddia deserved some more elaboration!

“We’re up so high...Y-You’re still ready to catch me, Lady Lukah?”

“I have you, Eloise--Don’t worry,” Sahri tells the girl from a lower branch. “Try pulling at the branch to your right--test if it can support your weight.” Given its thickness, Sahri knew that it would, but it was still a good idea to develop the habit. Eloise does as she says, and surely enough, the branch stays firm.

“I think it will…” The girl looks back to her for confirmation, and Sahri gives her a smile. 

“Go ahead, then. Just remember--pay attention to your balance.”

“O-Okay!”

The sun peeking through the canopy overhead marked midday in the Rak’tika Greatwood, lighting the tree which Sahri and the young Eloise climbed. At the girl’s urging, Sahri asked Ersabel about the possibility of taking Eloise tree-climbing in the Greatwood proper. To her surprise, the mother had proven amenable. The same could not be said for her friends’ parents. Not for a lack of trust in Sahri, they insisted, but rather mistrust of the boys’ own behavior. In truth, Sahri was relieved--one child’s safety was more than enough to manage, and of the three children, Eloise was the one Sahri found the most responsible. 

Still, she would leave nothing to chance--Sahri knew how quickly the flame of life could be extinguished. She’d staked out the tree they would climb beforehand, ensuring there was a clear, safe path to its top. And early that morning, she’d cleared out their path and the tree itself for any potential dangers. She even carried her staff on her back to be ready to cast a quick Rescue or Cure spell on the off chance something went wrong. Her own younger self would find her behavior insufferably overbearing, Sahri knew. There were simply so many factors which could turn perilous at a moment’s notice...Sahri thinks she’s beginning to understand the stress she must have put Lady Lukah through with her insistent athletics and exploration in the Twelveswood. Next time they met, she’d have to thank her. 

“This...this isn’t so hard!” Eloise says, no longer seeking Sahri’s permission before pulling herself to the next branch.

“It’s not! I knew you’d gain some confidence,” Sahri praises. The girl had done just that as they’d climbed higher, overcoming an initial intimidation at the tree’s height. Sahri was gladdened to see confidence didn’t come in place of cautiousness, either--that was what made the difference between a passion for climbing and an accident scaring you from ever trying again. She made a mental note to tell Ersabel how attentive her daughter had been. 

“I...I don’t think I can climb any higher, Lady Lukah,” Eloise tells her, sitting herself on a thankfully-substantial branch.

“That’s alright! Wait there for me.” No longer having to keep close watch, Sahri is free to nimbly make her way up the remaining branches, arriving at the girl’s side in a matter of seconds. 

“You’re fast, Lady Lukah.” Eloise stares at Sahri, wide-eyed, and Sahri can’t help but giggle. She carefully takes a seat beside the girl and ruffles her hair. 

“I have a lot of practice. I’m certain you’ll be able to match me, in time.” Sahri turns from the girl to admire the view before them--few leaves blocked their view, and as such, they could see far ahead into the Greatwood. The sight instantly lulled Sahri into comfort. “Look...It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Eloise?”

“Wow…” Eloise admires with her, mouth agape. “I’ve been outside the village a couple times, but never very far...The trees go on for so long…” She scans the horizon and rests upon another sight. “Oh! And Lake Tusi Mek’ta! I can see all the way to the other side!” The girl kicks her legs in excitement. “I wonder what’s underneath it…”

“Oh, a world of ruins,” Sahri informs her. “The bottom is littered with relics of Ronka, secret tunnels…”

“W-Wait...You went all the way to the bottom?!” Eloise looks at Sahri in wonder. “But how?” 

Ah, right. Sahri rubs the back of her head. “That’s...I can hold my breath for a long time?” 

“That long?! Can you teach me how to do that?” The girl’s eyes are sparkling.

Sahri laughs nervously. “It’s...not something that can be taught, unfortunately.” The girl looks crestfallen, but Sahri gives her a pat on the back. “Don’t think about that right now. We’re still at the top of this tree, aren’t we? That’s just as special.” Eloise’s face brightens once more.

“You’re right, it is.” The girl resumes taking in the view. “So...What do we do now?”

“What we do?” Sahri smiles. “Whatever you want to. Admire the view, listen to yourself think...Or we could simply talk. Honestly, I could sit up here for hours…”

“Hours?” Eloise asks incredulously. 

“Hours...Though we won’t be staying that long,” Sahri clarifies. “I promised your mother that we’d not be out much more than one.”

“Aw, darn.” Eloise pouts, drawing a laugh from Sahri.

“That only means that it is important to cherish the time we have now,” Sahri assures her. “Here--Try taking a few moments to relax. Clear your head, quietly admire the view, let your thoughts guide you where they may...You’d be surprised what you might find when you allow yourself to think.”

“Hmm...Okay. I’ll try it.” Eloise exhales deeply, fixing her eyes on the horizon. She really was so much more well-behaved than Sahri was at her age. Sahri follows her lead and wills her own mind to quiet. Nostalgia wells within her as she stares at the treetops. Nothing allowed her to find ease as being among the trees did. She feels a pang of familiarity…

And the trees are replaced by towers aflame, towers collapsing, a chorus of screams and the stench of death filling the air. Sahri’s heart rate spikes into a dead sprint. Her home...her people were…

...Not here, Sahri reminds herself, sighing. They were long dead. And such a vision did not make sense, even as a memory. If the buildings were burning around her, why would she decide to climb to the top of one? Her mind had not even tried to cobble together something coherent. With some difficulty (though markedly improved over previous episodes), Sahri steadies her breathing and slows her pulse. As she does, the flames die, leaving behind a gorgeous line of towers framed against the night sky. She smiles. Much better. 

Sitting atop a tower, losing herself in the city beyond as she rests with a most comforting presence...There was a familiarity she could be pleased to feel. A thought stirs in Sahri’s mind. She rustles through a pocket in her robe and produces a gem--moonstone. The same moonstone she’d prepared to serve as the Garlean Eye in her failed carvings of Hades. She’d abandoned the project alongside wallowing in her own despair, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to abandon the gem. There was no need to waste it, was there? She’d find a new use for it, one day. Besides...even if they possessed no real connection, it reminded her of him…

She takes the moonstone in her finger and thumb and holds it out before her eyes--watching its glint in the light of the moon and stars. Beautiful...Moonstone was a material more commonly used for trading than crafting, but Sahri couldn’t imagine why. Surely, it was not the easiest stone to work with, but there was nothing quite like its luster, its faint blue glow... Admiring such a pretty stone before the Amaurotine skyline...Sahri was transported back. She could feel his presence beside her. She could feel…

...The sound of quiet sniffling reaches Sahri’s ears, and night transforms to day in a flash. She turns and finds Eloise’s face streaked with tears, the girl hugging herself tightly.

“Eloise?!” Sahri places her hands on the girl’s shoulders and leans towards her, her face filling with concern. “Oh, what happened? Please, talk to me.” Sahri produces a cloth to help Eloise wipe her face. The girl starts to talk through her sniffling. 

“I-I’m sorry, Lady Lukah..” she manages. Sahri holds her tighter. “I was trying to relax, like you said. I really was. But then I started thinking…” A few new tears run down her face. “I started thinking that Toddia would have really liked seeing this, too…” Sahri’s heart sinks at the departed girl’s name, instantly understanding the weight of the situation. 

“Toddia...I attended her service,” Sahri tells the girl. Eloise nods.

“I r-remember,” Eloise tells her. “That was right before the night came back. You found her heartstone…”

“...Was she your friend?” Sahri decides to ask. Again, Eloise nods. 

“Yeah…” she confirms. “We used to play together a lot. She was really nice--And not afraid of anything! I used to be even shier than I was now, but she wouldn’t let me just stand on my own. Kind of like you wouldn’t, Lady Lukah.” A pang of sorrow seizes Sahri’s heart. Y’shtola had shared a few short words about the girl after her service, but this was the most she’d ever heard about Toddia in life. She sounded like a kind girl…

“People...people used to die a lot before you came, Lady Lukah,” Eloise continues. “Moms and dads and aunts and uncles. Kids, too, sometimes. Even Toddia’s dad was killed by a sin eater when she was really little.” The girl smiles sadly. “Toddia was always the one trying to cheer the other kids up when that happened. She said that we didn’t need to cry, because the Warrior of Darkness would bring them to the sunless sea. That the Warrior of Darkness was really strong and would save us one day, so we didn’t have to be afraid.” She sniffles more. “I just...I wish I could tell her she was right…”

Sahri hugs the girl in earnest, petting her and letting her cry against her robe. An old fountain of guilt surges to the forefront of Sahri’s mind. If only she hadn’t been the last to be summoned, if only she…

“I...I’m sorry,” Sahri says quietly. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t…” She cuts herself off. No. That was beyond her control, she reminds herself. Apparently, Eloise was thinking the same.

“N-No! No, don’t feel bad, Lady Lukah,” the girl stammers. “You helped so many of us--she’d be so happy. If she knew you were sad about her, she’d get mad at you!” 

Sahri smiles. “Is that so? Well, I wouldn’t want that.” She pauses. “After all, there...there are far better ways to honor those lost to us,” Sahri reminds herself as much as Eloise. “There are far better ways...to remember.” 

Eloise nods in agreement. “You’re friends with Miss Vondia, right, Lady Lukah?”

“That’s right.” 

“...Toddia’s mother is Miss Vondia’s big sister,” Eloise explains. Sahri’s eyes go wide. “She was the one...who carried Toddia’s heartstone at the ceremony.” Thinking back on it, Sahri did recall that the woman bearing the stone was a particularly distressed looking drahn woman. One that she could easily imagine being related to Vondia...It was a small village, after all.

“So Vondia was her aunt…” Sahri had not known that before. 

“Yeah...But really, she was a lot more like another mom,” Eloise tells her. Sahri tilts her head. “Miss Vondia doesn’t have any kids, so after Toddia’s dad died, she helped Toddia’s mom with raising her and stuff. Toddia loved her a lot, and I think Miss Vondia did too.” 

_ “She would never forgive me if I jeopardized my life so recklessly,”  _ Sahri hears in Vondia’s voice. She places a hand on her chest. Sahri could not begin to imagine what the pain of losing a child who was like your daughter must feel like. The guilt that must accompany that.

“I...had no idea,” Sahri whispers. It’s little wonder Vondia had never spoken to her about such a heavy subject. Perhaps she should check in on the woman later, make sure she was processing her grief…

“Everyone was so rel...reli...happy,” Eloise tries instead, “when you found Toddia’s heartstone. It would have been terrible if she wasn’t able to go to the sunless sea…” Ah, yes...That was the driving purpose of the Blessed’s memorial service. Sahri wasn’t certain if she was supposed to take it literally, but the girl sitting next to her clearly believed in its power. She smiles at her. 

“It’s such a fascinating tradition, isn’t it?” Sahri muses. “The ceremony of placing heartstones in The Darker’s basin…”

“Um...What?” Eloise stares at her blankly. Oh, right. 

“Ah--I’m sorry.” She suddenly feels foolish. “You’ve never known anything different--to you it would be completely normal. I more mean, it was interesting to learn about, coming from the outside.” 

“Is that...Is that not what you do where you’re from, Lady Lukah?” Eloise asks, sounding confused. Sahri searches for a way to explain.

“Well...Where I’m from, when we lose someone...We usually bury them, or spread their ashes somewhere special,” Sahri informs her. “We do hold a ceremony...But we don’t have anything like heartstones. 

“No heartstones?” Eloise frowns. “But then how…” Her eyes go wide. “Wait...If you don’t have a heartstone...D-Does that mean you’re not going to come to the sunless sea with us, Lady Lukah?” The girl looks ready to burst into tears anew. Sahri pets her reassuringly. 

“You don’t need to worry about that,” she assures. She tugs down her robe’s collar to reveal a choker underneath--a choker adorned by a jade gemstone. Sahri had wanted to craft something so she could easily carry her heartstone around. “I have one now, thanks to all of you.” The girl is visibly relieved, and she smiles widely.

“That’s--That’s the same as Toddia’s!” Eloise exclaims. “Did you do that on…” Sahri nods at her. “Oh...You’re so kind, Lady Lukah…” Eloise throws her arms around Sahri and gives her a tight squeeze. Sahri gladly hugs her back. After a few moments, the girl pulls away, speaking once more.

“I’m worried about everyone else from your home, though,” she continues with a furrowed brow. “Is burying...is burying enough to let them rest…?” What a sweet child, Sahri thinks.

“I believe it is,” Sahri tells her. Visiting Haurchefant’s grave certainly helped her feel that he was at peace. She’d wished she’d had something similar for Ysayle, for Minfilia, for…

_ “Remember us.” _

….Hades. Hades, whose body had faded away into light…Into her light... Sahri rolls the piece of moonstone she still holds between her fingers. Ysayle and Minfilia, she’d been able to move on from with the help of time and shared mourning, but him…

“...Though I imagine not having a body is a pain quite similar to not being able to retrieve one of the Blessed’s heartstones,” Sahri says quietly. She feels a small hand on her arm--Eloise attempting to comfort her. 

“That happened to you…?” the girl asks. 

“...There was a man I loved,” Sahri tells her. “He died, very recently...And there was nothing of him left.”

“Oh no…” Eloise sounds utterly distraught. “Did...did a sin eater get him…?”

Sahri stifles a small, bitter laugh. “You could say that.” 

“Then…” Eloise’s eyes are wide with sympathy. “Then how did you have a ceremony for him?”

“...We didn’t,” Sahri admits. Eloise is aghast. 

“But...but you have to!” The girl’s grip on her arm grows firmer. “He’s never going to be able to rest, otherwise!” Sahri bites her lip, hard--the girl’s words struck something deep in her heart. Sahri rolls the moonstone in her hand at a more rapid pace. “And he...he didn’t have a heartstone or anything, did he…?”

“No. He didn’t have...have…” The moonstone is so smooth in her hand. Focusing on it is perhaps the only way Sahri is keeping herself from crying. The moonstone is--

...The moonstone. The moon...stone. Sahri allows the gem to rest in the palm of her hand, and her eyes go wide. No...Was it that simple? Could she just…? Sahri turns to a concerned-looking Eloise and breaks into a smile. 

“Eloise...Thank you. Oh, thank you…” Sahri hugs the girl tightly, earning a noise of surprise. 

“U-Um…” Confusion permeates the girl’s voice. “I don’t understand. Why are you thanking me…?” Sahri pulls back, hands resting on the girl’s shoulders--still smiling.

“Because you’ve helped me more than you could know,” she tells her. “You’re a wonderful girl to talk to, you know that? A thoughtful, attentive listener.” Eloise’s cheeks take on the slightest hint of pink, and a shy smile rises to her face.

“Y...You are too, Lady Lukah!” the girl tells her, mind sidetracked by the praise. Sahri giggles.

“Why, thank you.” She pats the girl on the head. “I apologize for prolonging such a weighty topic. We should be using this time to help you enjoy yourself.”

Eloise shakes her head. “It’s okay. I…” She smiles. “I feel a little better, having talked…”

“So do I.” Sahri returns her smile. The image of another smile finds its way back into her mind. This time, it is warm…

“It...might be nice to talk about something more fun, though,” Eloise admits. Her face lights up. “Oh, I know! Lady Lukah, do you know Mr. Quinfort?”

Sahri bursts into laughter. “Oh dear. I do, in fact. Let me guess--he said something strange to you?”

“He did!” Eloise’s eyes are wide, brimming with energy for the story she was about to tell. Sahri settles in, a hand lingering on Eloise’s back--this would be a long one, she knew. “He said that he received a message from the, uh...from a snake, and that we needed to…”

…………………………………………………………………………………..

The only sounds which break the silence of the clear Rak’tika night are the chatter of insects and the gentle sloshing of water against tree. Sahri gazes into Lake Tusi Mek’ta’s murky waters, standing on an enormous root that serves as a makeshift path across the lake’s surface. The stretch of root she lingers on is low enough that the water occasionally licks at her boots in its subtle motion. Shore far afield, only the lake’s absolute depths lingered beneath the surface which surrounds her--beneath the stars which shimmered on its surface. Sahri squeezes the moonstone in her palm. A fitting place for a grave, she thinks to herself. 

“There you are, Lukah. I’ve brought the requisite items--and a guest. I’m certain you won’t mind.”

Caught off guard in spite of herself, Sahri glances in the direction of the voice and finds Y’shtola walking towards her. On a small plank of wood, she carries two candles with a familiar blue flame. Behind her stands Runar, who carries a candle of his own--that gives Sahri a jolt. 

“You...told Runar?” Sahri asks, confused. Y’shtola shrugs, seeming unconcerned. 

“He caught me as I was wandering into The Darker, so I explained to him the situation.” Sahri’s heart seizes, but Y’shtola’s smile calms her. “Only what was necessary,” the woman reassures. “It’s a boon to us, in any case. He is far more qualified to preside over such ceremonies than I.” She moves to Sahri’s left side, holding out her plank of candles for Runar to place his own. She sets the collection down on the root and looks to where he now stands at Sahri’s right side. “Well? Say something to her, Runar.”

“A-Ah, of course.” The man briefly bows his head. “I apologize for inserting myself, Lady Lukah. Yet when Master Matoya told me of your plans, I could not help myself.” He places a hand on her shoulder, eyes brimming with sympathy. “If...If I had only known the depths of the sorrows with which you were grappling...We of Slitherbough are well familiar with the tragedy of families shattered before they can grow. I am so deeply sorry to hear that you lost your husband--and at such a young age, besides.” 

The word “husband” cracks Sahri over the head with the weight of an anvil.  _ Her _ husband? The concept is utterly alien to her mind--it had been years since she’d dreamed of such for herself. Yet at the same time, her heart squeezed with familiarity…

“My husband…” Sahri says aloud, phrase bizarre to feel on her tongue. She turns towards Y’shtola, narrowing her eyes. “What did you say to him?” she asks in a hushed voice. 

“Naught more than the truth,” Y’shtola replies, tilting her head with a satisfied smile. “Is our friend wrong? I do rather fondly recall the story you told me of your husband’s proposal to you.”

Sahri’s gaze softens. This was not Y’shtola trying to tease her, she realizes. No, she called the man her husband with complete sincerity. And...in a sense, she wasn’t wrong. The covenant which bound their souls in Amaurot did not exactly have an expiration date--if it was anything like the Ceremonies of Eternal Bonding held in the Twelveswood, at least, but Sahri suspected it was, in intent if not in ritual. Perhaps that was what Y’shtola was trying to help her realize. Tears prickle at the corner of Sahri’s eyes-- “husband” would be a difficult label to accept, but the fact Y’shtola had listened to her, had honored her past as such at all…

“I love you,” Sahri whispers to her, and Y’shtola’s smile grows even fonder. “Thank you,” she says more loudly, turning back to Runar. “I’m...I’m gladdened to have such a dear friend honor him, as well.” Runar joins Y’shtola in smiling at her.

“But of course, Lady Lukah.” He withdraws his hand from her shoulder. “Are you certain you would not like to conduct this ceremony in The Darker? Your husband may not have been of the Blessed, but I doubt any would object to affording the Warrior of Darkness’ spouse such an honor.”

“That’s kind of you, but no,” Sahri tells him, shaking her head. “It would be...inappropriate.” After all, the man was directly responsible for the abundance of heartstones which used to rest in Slitherbough’s own “sunless sea.” Runar gives her a nod.

“If that is your decision, I would not presume to question it.” He taps his cheek. “What was his name? I take it he did not have one of the dark. As precious as a name of the light is, it must be uttered to honor the man properly.”

Emet-Selch could almost be considered a “name of the dark,” Sahri muses to herself. But if she said as much, Runar may remember it over his true one--that was not how he deserved to be remembered. No, for all his evils, it was vital he be remembered as the man he was…

“...Hades,” Sahri informs him. “His name was Hades.”

“Hades…” Runar repeats. While not quite the level of thrill of hearing Y’shtola utter it, his name in Runar’s voice still warmed her heart. “A most unique name. I doubt I will soon forget it.” He gestures towards the two women. “Do you wish to take a few moments to ready yourselves, or shall we proceed with the ceremony?”

“I’m content to start at any time,” Y’shtola says. “So really, it is up to you, moonbeam.” Sahri feels a chord of anxiety, but Y’shtola’s hand resting upon her back helps her to take a breath. Sahri looks between the two standing at her sides. 

“I’m...I’m ready,” she manages. She was not, but she doubted she would ever be. Y’shtola lightly rubs her back before her hand falls away.

“Excellent. Then...Let us begin.” Runar clears his throat, beginning to speak as he would in front of a crowd. Somehow, it helps Sahri soak in the weight of the situation. “Thank you both for coming to pay respects to our fallen comrade--a husband of the night. In both light and dark, we shall remember him as Hades.” Runar pauses, looking towards her. “Normally, this is where I would ask mourners to say their silent prayers. Yet since not all in attendance are fortunate enough to have known the man, I believe it would be appropriate for you to first say a few words, Lady Lukah.”

“A...few words?” Sahri furrows her brow. She’d spoken at a handful of funerals and memorials for those she’d loved, before, but never in a service such as this. Never for a man such as Hades. 

“Speak to the man he was,” Y’shtola tells her. “You loved him. I know you’re capable of as much. None could do him the justice you can.” Yes...the woman was right, of course. Who knew Hades as Sahri did? Not even any of his fellow Ascians, she suspected. She nods, resolving herself. She rolls the moonstone across her palm, remembering the feeling of his skin. Remembering his smile.

“Hades was...a flawed man,” Sahri begins, closing her eyes in reflection. “A man whose sorrows consumed him. And yet…” She smiles, feeling the tender warmth of his gaze. “Those sorrows were born from his greatest qualities--the deep love and passion in his heart. He possessed such a deep devotion to his home, to the people that he loved...to me, the one he...th-the one he called his soul’s mate…” Sahri’s voice chokes, Y’shtola wiping away the scattered tears rolling down her face. “He possessed such devotion that it began to become a flaw...And yet, I cannot credibly criticize him for it. I...I am no different. Certainly not in my love for him…”

Sahri glances between Y’shtola and Runar. Both nod at her, urging her on, so she continues.

“He...was a most sharp and incisive man, and an unwaveringly honest one--with me, at the very least. His retorts brought an unwilling smile to my face more than once.” Such as the one forming on her face in that very moment. “He was a connoisseur of the arts--especially theater. Even if he had not told you as much, one could easily infer it through his flair for the dramatic. At times, I believed he saw his life as one grand play for him to act in. Yet beneath his performance lay a world of genuine sentiment and emotion--a sincerity he generally shied from, but one I was privileged enough to witness. And what a beautiful world it was…” 

Gods, the catharsis Sahri found in speaking of him freely... Openly, lovingly. This...this is what she’d needed from the beginning. She takes a steadying breath. 

“The world will likely not remember him as the kindest man...not the strongest, nor the one who contributed the most to it…” She clutches the moonstone tightly. “And yet, he was mine. I loved him dearly. He...He will be missed…” Sahri trails off, further words escaping her. Fortunately, that was a suitable enough end. Runar again places his hand on her shoulder.

“He will be missed, indeed,” Runar tells her, smiling. Sahri feels Y’shtola’s arm around her waist. She says nothing, but her eyes carry pride. “Now that we have heard this stirring account of his memory, let us each take a moment to offer Hades our prayers.”

Runar and Y’shtola both close their eyes and bow their heads, so Sahri follows their lead. She couldn’t begin to imagine what each was thinking--especially Y’shtola, who had known the man first as a Garlean Emperor and Ascian. Yet there they stood, reflecting in his memory. Idly, Sahri wonders what the man would think of this little memorial--far too understated for his tastes, no doubt. Perhaps he’d chide her, share with her how lives were honored in Amaurot. She could only hope that the love she poured into this would be enough. 

‘Please, Hades…’ Sahri thinks. ‘I will remember you...I will ensure in your place that Amaurot is not forgotten. So, please...Please, find your rest…’

When Sahri opens her eyes, she sees both Runar and Y’shtola have also finished their prayers. She believes she remembers from Toddia’s memorial how this will go, but she still looks to Runar for guidance.

“Do you possess his heartstone, Lady Lukah?” Runar asks. “Or, rather...the item that will be serving as such?”

Sahri nods. “It’s here.” She holds the moonstone in her palms, outstretching her arms before her. Runar’s eyes light up. 

“Ah...A most splendid gem,” he tells her. “I believe it is only appropriate for you to be the one to handle it.” Sahri smiles gratefully. The man resumes his solemn expression. “We entrust Hades now to the night’s sweet embrace. In Darkness will he be free from pain and suffering, now and forevermore. May his soul find peace in the sunless sea of heaven, and in the love we bear for him in our hearts.” He pauses, looking towards Sahri. “It is time, Lady Lukah. Lower your hands beneath the waters and allow his heartstone to slip from your palms.”

A voice screams in Sahri’s head that she should not do it. That she could not allow this precious piece of moonstone to be lost to the murky abyss...She should place it back in her pocket and forget this whole affair, run if she has to. Sahri sighs. No, it was far too late for that. She’d made her choice long ago, sitting against a rock in Kholusia. 

Sahri sinks to her knees, Runar and Y’shtola following her example. As she does, she’s surprised to see a man materialize in the water--the man of the hour, in fact. Hades smiles at her. That same, inscrutable smile which Sahri will carry to her own grave. She smiles back. Her mind’s conjured version of the man had sworn she’d never hear from him again, but she supposed he’d left a loophole for appearances. How could he ever let such an event go by without gracing the attendees with his visage, after all? 

“Farewell, my love,” she tells him. He continues to smile. 

Slowly, painfully slowly, Sahri lowers her hands. When they breach the water’s surface, the ripples distort the man’s appearance, and he fades away into the dark of night. 

There was still time, the doubting voice in her mind screams. She could still change her mind. In response, Sahri straightens her fingers and subtly tilts her hands forward. Smooth moonstone tumbles downwards, and when Sahri’s hands emerge from the water, no gem rests upon them. She shudders, full-body, tears streaking down her face. It was done. It was done…

The next voice she hears is not Runar’s, but Y’shtola’s. 

“We call upon you now, O Bringer of Shadow, to lead this gentle soul unto the sea.” Sahri turns to look at her. While the words she recites are part of the ceremony, Y’shtola very pointedly directs them at her. No malice--only gentle urging. The woman carefully places the plank of candles to float on the water’s surface. “We call upon you, O Warrior of Darkness, to deliver him unto paradise everlasting.” 

“I will,” Sahri promises her. “I will…” Y’shtola takes her hand and smiles.

“We both will,” she says. She lightly pushes the candles forward, and Sahri watches as they drift to parts unknown, destined to be ashes by the morning. 

Sahri looks back down towards the patch of water in which the moonstone slipped forever from reach. She swears she can see a new star sparkling in the gem’s place.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Following a lengthy, emotional, and altogether lively conversation with Runar at the lake, Sahri and Y’shtola arrive at their home in Slitherbough. It was the dead of night, and Sahri was thoroughly exhausted--physically and emotionally both. With little hesitation, she hangs up her robe, unfastening her boots and kicking them off. When she stands, she feels arms wrap around her from behind. 

“I was honestly shocked when you came to me with the idea,” Y’shtola says in a tender voice, “but I believe that was an altogether suitable memorial. How do you feel, moonbeam?”

“...Relieved,” Sahri admits, leaning back into the woman’s hold. “I will never forget him, but for the first time, I feel...I feel as if I can let go.”

“And that is a relief to  _ me _ , beyond words,” Y’shtola tells her. “I would not do so lightly, so believe me when I say--I am proud of you, Sahri.”

“...Thank you,” Sahri chokes out. She turns around in Y’shtola’s hold and hugs her tightly, allowing the woman to support her weight. Y’shtola’s own hug grows firmer, and she rubs Sahri’s back soothingly. Sahri loses track of how long they stand there, allowing herself to completely relax into the woman’s arms. Eventually, though, Y’shtola breaks the silence.

“Now that this matter has been settled,” she says, “it may be prudent to begin discussing your return to the Source.” 

Sahri’s heart sinks like a stone. She pushes back to speak to the woman’s face.

“What? No.” Sahri refuses. She would not. “Do not tell me I worked up the will to do this only for you to send me away the next morning.”

“No, no.” Y’shtola shakes her head, hands resting comfortingly on Sahri’s cheeks. “I will not send you away before you are ready. The timing is entirely of your choosing. I’m simply inclined to believe the brevity of your stay in the Source is a sign of deliberate avoidance.” Sahri averts her eyes. As usual, Y’shtola had read her with ease. “That is an avoidance that must be overcome--for your own sake, as well as those of all the Scions.”

“You’re not...wrong,” Sahri confesses. “But…” 

“Please look at me, moonbeam,” Y’shtola asks. Sahri complies, redirecting her gaze. “If I were a less responsible woman, I would hoard you all to myself--I would take hold of you and not let you go.” Sahri believes it, too. “But I know I am far from the only person who loves you. There are many who deserve to hear from you, to take comfort in the sight of you--especially after so close a brush with death. Some, I quite care for the wellbeing of, myself.” Lyse, Sahri knows she means. 

“I...I understand,” she concedes. “You’re right, of course.” Her face fills with resolve. “But I cannot stay there, Shtola. I simply cannot. They don’t need me, right now. You do. I refuse to let years more fly by for you and the Scions as I idle there. I will never allow that to happen again.” 

Y’shtola smiles. “I will not argue with such fire. Once you’ve done what you need, I would enthusiastically welcome you back into my arms--so long as you're prepared for more of my tutelage.” In her relief, Sahri can’t suppress a giggle. “Though it may be a pragmatic consideration to stay a bit more mobile than you have been--to check in with the other Scions on occasion, as well as your Exarch. I imagine each has been quite busy, as we have.”

“I’d assume so. I’ll make sure to speak with each before I return to Slitherbough.” As much as Sahri adored this forest reverie, she’d known her responsibilities would catch up with her one day--that she could not stay here forever. Still, she was content to know it was somewhere she could always return to…

“...It will be strange,” Sahri says, quieter. “I’ve become so used to waking up beside you in the morning…”

Y’shtola sighs. “As have I beside you. It will be a difficult transition for us both. But we must both endeavor to remember that it is only an interruption, not an end. That we will wake in the same bed once more.” Sahri nods, and the woman’s face brightens. “In the meantime, I believe I have something that may bring you a degree of ease.”

Sahri tilts her head. “What’s that?”

“You will soon see. Close your eyes for me,” Y’shtola requests, still smiling. “I’ll tell you when you may reopen them.” 

Confused, yet finding no reason to object, Sahri does so. She hears a shuffle around the room, the sound of Y’shtola digging through her belongings. When it stops, the woman walks back to her, and Sahri suddenly feels hands playing with her hair--a tug at the black oldrose which adorns it, a pair of light weights left underneath her hair, at its sides. Finally, she hears the sound of the woman picking an item up from the table, and after a few moments of silence, she speaks. 

“You’re free to open your eyes.”

Sahri does so, and they immediately grow wide. She gasps softly. Y’shtola holds a hand mirror before her face, and in her reflection, she sees her oldrose has been replaced with new hair accessories. Twin blue feathers, much the same as the ones Y’shtola wore. The woman leans over her shoulder, and Sahri sees she still wears her own--the two of them matched, now. 

“Oh, Shtola…”

“I’ve noticed you have a habit of collecting keepsakes from your loved ones,” Y’shtola explains, pleased by Sahri’s reaction. “So I thought to prepare one of my own. You do not need to feel obligated to wear them if you do not believe they suit you, but you might at least carry them around. Perhaps they will bring you some comfort when you are on the road.”

Sahri tilts her head at various angles in the mirror. Due to how the feathers contrasted with Y’shtola’s hair and typical attire, she had not realized how similar their color appeared to that of her own hair when in low light. At a glance, one might even mistake them for a natural extension of the hair. Sahri is immediately fond of how they frame her face, giving her hairstyle a hint more of maturity that it could admittedly afford. She beams, turning to face Y’shtola.

“I...quite like how they look, actually,” Sahri tells her. “They’re beautiful. I may well have to try wearing them around.” Delight fills Y’shtola’s expression.

“Is that so? Even better. Take this, then.” She hands Sahri a lightweight pouch. Sahri peeks inside, seeing more blue feathers. “Much like all feathers which adorn the Blessed’s attire, I’ve enchanted those accessories with enhanced durability. They would fall apart far too quickly, otherwise. Still, if they do become damaged, it would not hurt to have a few spares on hand.” Sahri takes Y’shtola’s hands in hers. 

“Thank you, Shtola,” she says, truly grateful. Y’shtola was not wrong about her habits, and she was thrilled to have a piece of the woman to carry around. “This is the finest sort of gift I could ask for--they’re lovely, absolutely lovely. I’ll cherish them.”

“With how hard I drive you, it’s only fair that I spoil you once in a while.” Y’shtola smiles at her fondly. A realization strikes Sahri.

“Ah...That reminds me,” she says. “Just a moment.” Sahri walks to place the feather pouch in her hanging robe’s pocket before making her way to the two’s bedroom. Curious, Y’shtola follows her, and she stands before Sahri when she pulls an item from one of her bags. In Sahri’s hands rest a small, wooden statuette, and Y’shtola’s eyes widen.

“Gold...That is your aether,” the woman immediately notes. 

“It is,” Sahri confirms, shyly smiling. “This is...the ‘surprise’ I’ve been carving. I wasn’t certain when to give it to you, but now seemed an appropriate moment.” Y’shtola gingerly takes it in her hands, admiring it. 

“Your aether’s presence helps me appreciate more of the detail,” Y’shtola tells her gratefully, beginning to run her fingers along it. “This shape...is that of a woman,” she correctly recognizes. “...A miqo’te woman,” she notes with amusement, feeling two bumps atop the figure’s head. “She holds a bow ready in a battle stance.” 

“That’s right.” Sahri is relieved she made the shapes distinct enough for Y’shtola to recognize. 

“...Is this meant to be you?” Y’shtola asks her, catching Sahri by surprise.

“What? Oh, no, no.” She shakes her head. “I have no talent with a bow. She is meant to be a Keeper huntress more generally. ...Though I did hope it might remind you of me,” she admits. Y’shtola wraps an arm around Sahri’s shoulders, pulling her into a hug.

“I do very much enjoy when the huntress in you comes forth,” Y’shtola teases with a smirk. Sahri’s face goes red. “Is your aether merely meant to aid my sight, or is there a further purpose to it?”

“...Well…” Sahri gently wraps her arms around Y’shtola’s waist, almost clinging to her in her embarrassment. “In Kholusia, you had me imbue Toddia’s heartstone with my aether for ‘good luck,’ so I thought…” Y’shtola’s laugh pours warmth into Sahri’s heart.

“A good luck charm? You are truly a darling, Sahri Rhoshaan.” The woman presses a kiss to Sahri’s cheek. Her voice grows quieter, more intimate. “Thank you for such a thoughtful gift, moonbeam. I’ll be well-served by carrying a piece of your boundless strength with me.”

Sahri buries her face in Y’shtola’s shoulder, and the woman sets down the statuette to hug her in earnest. Gods, Sahri loved her. Where would Sahri be without her? Not here, that was for certain. Not on the path to healing her despair. Perhaps not even of the same mortal composition. Y’shtola was exactly what Sahri wanted, exactly what Sahri needed, and the woman offered her love to her in full. She loved her. She loved her. She loved her…

Sahri found true peace in that moment. The strength Y’shtola renewed in her was not something she would soon forget, whether she wore it in her hair or carried it in her heart. Sahri allows herself to sink into the woman’s love. To surrender herself to it. Her weariness creeps up on her. How easily she could drift off, like this…

“Moonbeam.” Y’shtola stirs her from her near-slumber. “If you wish to sleep, the bed may be better suited for it.” 

“Ah. R-Right…” With some effort, Sahri once more stands of her own volition. Y’shtola strokes her cheek. 

“It has been a trying day,” Y’shtola says. “And a trying year, at that. Please rest, Sahri. You’ve more than earned it.”

“And I’ll gladly take it,” Sahri agrees with a smile, eyelids drooping. She slinks into the bed beside them, curling up and pulling the covers over her. After a few moments, she feels a weight settle in behind her, arms moving to hold her. 

“Sleep well, moonbeam,” Y’shtola whispers into her ear. “Remember--I will be here for you come morning.”

That night, Sahri slips easily into a contented slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRG 80 was partially an inspiration for the chapter, though I had the basic concept before I played it--It's interesting, the idea that even truly evil beings deserve to be laid to rest, because they must be remembered as the people they were in all their complexity--To stay aware the line that separates a hero and a villain is thinner than most would like to admit. They are not a different species--they are us, and to ignore that risks repeating their mistakes.


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promises must be kept.

“To think this all happened so soon after I left the Scions…” Lyse holds her head in her hands. “I wish I had been there. I wish I could have fought alongside you all…”

Sahri places a comforting hand on Lyse’s arm.

“Please don’t think like that,” Sahri pleads with her. “None of us had a choice in this, Lyse. And in the end, all of the Scions arrived on the other side, alive and well. We’ve even gained more than a few new allies. I hear you’ve been doing much the same for Ala Mhigo.” Lyse slowly lifts up her head, a smile rising to her face.

“...You’re right. Everyone’s lives are all I could ask for.” She takes one of Sahri’s hand in her own. “If...If there is anything I can do to assist you--anything at all--please let me know. Whether that be my own strength or that of Ala Mhigo. You must have endured such pain…”

“I did,” Sahri admits. Yet she smiles, playing with one of the feathers in her hair. “But with the support of the other Scions and all those I love, I’ve come out the other side stronger.”

Sitting under a tree in Ala Mhigo’s East End--the home to which Sahri was born--Sahri had shared the story of her time in the First with her dearest Lyse and Aymeric, who sat before her. By sheer luck, Eorzea’s leaders were all gathered in Ala Mhigo to be briefed on the progress of the war with Garlemald, and Sahri had managed to secure a time for the two to fly to Castrum Oriens to meet with her. Lyse had been expressive and engaged throughout the entirety of the tale, but Aymeric was much the opposite--early on, his face had taken a solemn expression, and he’d closed his eyes and listened quietly. It was eerie for the man to be so silent around her, Sahri thinks. Luckily, it seemed he was ready to speak--the man raised his head and opened his eyes. His expression was no less solemn.

“You wear a smile, but you cannot fool me, Sahri--the look in your eyes is far more weathered than it was the last time I saw you. This was not simply another adventure. Something in you has changed.” Both Sahri and Lyse are taken aback by the man’s directness, and the woman scrutinizes her, as if searching for hints of what Aymeric had said.

“...You may be right,” Sahri concedes with some guilt. “I cannot deny the toll this has all taken on me.”

“The day I spoke with you in your sickbed in the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly came within a hair’s breadth of being the last time I ever beheld you,” the man continues, eyes more sorrowful than angry. “You leave without a word, return to me a woman far wearier than she ever was before...Telling a story of your near-transformation into a monster, your near-collapse into your own despair...How might I be meant to feel, Sahri? Grateful?”

Sahri’s heart sinks, crestfallen. She’d...she’d erred. She’d erred, gravely, and hurt this man she loved. 

“No...No, not at all,” she says, casting her eyes downwards. “I wish I was able to say my sudden disappearance was for a good reason, but it was not. I spent months waiting on my own for the Ironworks expedition to be set into motion.”

“You...you did?” Lyse asks with surprise. “But...after you disappeared from Ishgard, no one heard a word from you. We’d all assumed you’d departed for parts unknown.” Sahri shakes her head, more guilt weighing her down.

“I...mostly kept to myself in Mor Dhona,” she explains. “I asked Tataru not to share my location if any came asking.”

“Sahri…” Lyse’s voice slips back into sadness. Sahri bites her lip.

“I...I am truly sorry. To the both of you,” Sahri tells them in a quiet voice. “I have been a poor friend, and a poorer partner besides. I will not ask you to forgive me.” 

A heavy silence reigns between the three, but after a few moments, Sahri feels a squeeze around her hand--Lyse still holds it. She looks up, and the woman is smiling. 

“You may not have asked for it, but I’ll forgive you anyway,” Lyse declares. “Gods know I’ve broken under far less.” She leans forward, speaking more intimately. “We’ve been through so much together, Sahri. We freed our home together. So you made a mistake. So you almost died! It will take more than that to shake my love for you. If anything, this all just makes me want to hold you closer.” 

“Lyse…” Sahri laughs, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. “You’re too kind…” Satisfied, Lyse turns towards Aymeric, nudging him with her elbow.

“Surely you have something to say as well, Lord Commander?” Visibly surprised by her question, Aymeric scratches his cheek and sighs. 

“Right you are, Councilwoman Hext. I do not wish to be misunderstood.” The man takes Sahri’s other hand, a small smile creeping onto his face. “One transgression does not suddenly erase all the good you’ve done for this realm--for myself. Nor does it erase how firmly you hold my heart in your hands.” He rubs his thumb soothingly across the back of her hand. “I forgive you as well. But please...Try to follow Estinien’s example less closely from now on.”

Sahri smiles widely. “I promise. Thank you, both of you…” 

Comfort wells in Sahri, holding the two’s hands...She was loved here, she remembers. No matter where she was, she had love to fall back on…

“Sahri.” Aymeric speaks once more. “I...once inquired, following your bout with Nidhogg, what it was you hoped to do with yourself with the war finally over. After all you’d done for the realm, none would have blamed you if you’d wished to stop and settle down. Yet you did not--you charged ever forward, liberating Ala Mhigo and Doma both, supporting our war effort against the Garleans, and now saving an entire world from its demise.” He pauses. “...I would ask you again. Surely, you have an end in sight for yourself. Surely, there is a future you wish for that does not involve throwing yourself at every danger which threatens the realm.”

A future...Sahri smiles sadly.

“I...don’t usually allow myself to consider such things,” Sahri admits. “Perhaps I should…”

“I think it would be good for you,” Lyse chimes in. “You deserve to be happy, not just to work yourself into the ground.”

“...Maybe so,” Sahri says. “But...Today is not the day for me to do so. I wished to speak with you both, but I cannot stay in the Source for long. I’m still needed in the First…”

“I believe we both understand,” Aymeric reassures her. “Your services are ever in demand, and we can continue to manage the warfront for now. Eorzea has begun to remember its strength extends beyond that of its Warrior of Light.” 

“You need to at least stay in Ala Mhigo for a few days, though!” Lyse insists. “This is your home, Sahri. You’re wanted here, too.” 

“I have to concur with the Councilwoman,” Aymeric adds. “You should accompany the both of us back to the capital. Not that you need fear we drag you into any of the politics, of course. By the week’s end, this conference will have concluded, and I will make my way back to Ishgard. Perhaps you might accompany me? It will ever be your home, as well, and I have it in confidence that certain Lords Edmont and Artoriel have been fretting themselves silly over you…”

Sahri giggles, filled with mirth--and deep love. “I believe I’ll take the both of you up on your offers. Though, Aymeric--might I make a brief stop in Gridania on our journey back? There is someone I must speak to, there.” It had been far too long since Sahri had last seen her mother. She had so very much to tell her.

“I believe that can be arranged,” Aymeric tells her, rising to his feet. He offers his hand to her, and she takes it, pulling herself to her own feet. “As much as I would love to continue this conversation for hours to come, we are here on most pressing business. Shall we return to Castrum Oriens and prepare to depart for the capital?”

“Hmmm…” Sahri taps her cheek. “Might the two of you go to the Castrum ahead of me? I’ll join you in a few minutes. I think I’d like to take a short walk.”

“So long as you don’t keep us waiting for too long!” Lyse tells her, now standing as well. She gives Sahri a peck on the lips, her cheeks flushing the slightest pink. “We’ll see you shortly--Won’t we?”

“You will,” Sahri promises. Content, the woman begins to walk off. Aymeric comes towards Sahri and leans forward to give her a kiss as well, waving to her before following Lyse. Sahri touches her lips, smiling. Her heart felt light.

And so Sahri begins her own stroll through the woods. The beautiful contrast of greens and reds affords the East End sights like no other, and though Sahri had not actually grown up here, she felt a pang of nostalgia regardless. She focuses on the aether flowing through the environment--ah, it was bustling with life once more. No longer was it suppressed by Garlean expansion or light leaking in from the First. The first time Sahri stepped foot in these woods had been a deeply melancholy experience, but now, she was able to appreciate them for what they were. Her home. Her home…

So fixated was Sahri on staring at the trees that she is completely blindsided when a force impacts her front at high speed.

“Ah!” she hears in a small voice. Looking down, she sees a child standing from being knocked to the ground--a young miqo’te boy. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sahri says immediately, glancing over the boy for bruises. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Are you hurt?”

“N-No...I’m fine, miss,” he tells her, dusting himself off. “I was playing, so I didn’t notice you…”

“Playing?” Sahri smiles down at him. “Do you do so often in these woods?” The boy nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah! Now I do. It’s been getting safer here, so Momma said it was alright!” As the boy continues to look at her, his smile fades. He scrunches his nose, regarding her curiously.

“Is something the matter?” she asks.

“Umm…” The boy sways back and forth in place, seemingly racking his mind. “I’ve seen your face before, miss...and your hair...Was it in a drawing…?” Suddenly, his eyes fly wide open. “W-Wait, aren’t you the lady who--?! Uh, w-what’s your name, miss?”

Sahri’s smile grows. Ah...Even in this remote location, she was recognized, then? She supposed there was no harm in confirming her identity to this star-struck little boy. 

Her name, he’d asked for…? Well. That was simple enough.

“My name is Sahri Rhoshaan,” she tells him. “The Warrior of Light.”

  
  
  


**_~Fin~_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! If you read this far, thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed this massive exercise in my own indulgence. It's kept me from playing the ShB patches for a while, but I think I'll feel more satisfied going in with this character resolution for Sahri. Onwards to 5.x!
> 
> Once I am current on content, it's not impossible I'll clean up and post some of the short fics I wrote for myself through 5.0, especially if there's any interest. I've fallen hard for this game, so it's enjoyable.


End file.
